


venus as a boy

by kozen



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, pretentious art references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 05:58:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18088754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kozen/pseuds/kozen
Summary: Trouble looks like a cute boy in a Star Wars shirt, exactly the kind of trouble Chanyeol has never known to stay away from.





	venus as a boy

**Author's Note:**

> as always thanks to nikki for being an angel ♡
> 
>  **warnings:** professor/student relationship (the characters are over the age of consent). kissing while one of the characters is under the influence of alcohol. minor age gap between the characters. male strip clubs, strippers and associated things. please keep all that in mind before reading!
> 
> [here's a playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/user/hyunas/playlist/3nX54dN4yYWQ8XDa19kXm2?si=vbq6V1mzQ9SysErF2vAPQA)for this fic.

 

 

 

Chanyeol’s head is about to explode. The sun is starting to sink beyond the small window in his office, which means he’s spent an entire afternoon hunched over his desk grading quizzes. Rearing back in his seat, he stretches his arms over his head and winces at the creak in his back. It’s not a pleasant sound, it reminds him of long hours locked up in his office and an evident lack of exercise since he moved to this town.

 

“Ooh, look at that,” says Sehun across the desk. “Age catching up to you, already?”

 

Chanyeol levels his best friend—a dubious title Sehun had dubbed himself two weeks after meeting—a glare that goes unheeded. Sehun’s grin is cheeky as he sits back in his own seat, feet propped dangerously close to Chanyeol’s work on the desk.

 

It’s a Thursday night and Chanyeol wishes he were at home making dinner, catching up on The Good Place, but his workload was more than he expected for the first week of the spring semester. Sehun had been more than happy to accompany him in his tiny office while he revised, which Chanyeol still isn’t sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse.

 

Chanyeol rolls his shoulders, pops another crick in his neck, and allows a slight smirk when he returns, “You forget I’m only older than you by a few months, Hunnie.”

 

Sehun laughs, broad shoulders quaking. “You got me there, Yeollie.” He grabs a pen from Chanyeol’s stash and spins it in the air, looking all too gleeful when he catches it. “Though I must say, not all of us age like fine wine like me. Some geezers like the dean age like, I don’t know, hooch made in someone’s toilet—”

 

“Are you sure you have _nothing else_ to do?” Chanyeol groans, rubbing his temple. The last of his patience is thinning and his headache doesn’t seem to be fading soon.

 

“Nope,” Sehun answers with an insolent pop of his lips. “Caught up with all my work earlier.”

 

Chanyeol huffs at Sehun’s smug grin. He could’ve said the same for himself, had it not been for the fact he’d done little to no work and spent most of the weekend browsing Netflix in his underwear. Winter was spent in the same fashion; Chanyeol had moved to Changwon in the start of January and had spent most of his time trying to settle into his new apartment, a small but cozy one-room affair—a far-off cry from his old officetel—and life in a small town, miles and miles away from the glitzy noise of Seoul.

 

Luckily for him, during the pre-class department reunion, Sehun took a liking to him. Though, sometimes the term _liking_ is still up for debate. 

 

“Okay, what if we go for a drink?” Sehun suggests, sitting up straight in his chair. “You can do this tomorrow.”

 

Chanyeol wishes, with all his might, that was possible, but he’d slacked off too much and now all this work had piled up. He heaves a weighty sigh. “I can’t,” Chanyeol says, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. “I have to finish this for tomorrow.” Then, mouth quirked, he adds, “Stop being such a bad influence.”

 

Sehun’s chuckle is low and indulgent. A new expression settles on his face; Chanyeol can’t make it out—a common occurrence with his friend, whose deadpan could rival a statue—but the minute tilt of his head, and his stare, piercing and poignant, reminds Chanyeol of a cat. “I’m only a bad influence when I know you need me to be and right now I know you need a drink, because you need to loosen up a little. Do things other people our age do.”

 

Sehun has a way of seeing right through people and Chanyeol’s no exception; the truth is he badly needs a drink or two, but the prospect of waking up to a hangover and more work piled up in the morning isn’t as promising as a good night’s sleep. Maybe he _is_ getting old.

 

“Sorry, Hunnie,” Chanyeol says, “but I think I’ll pass. Maybe next time.”

 

Sehun puffs out his cheeks. “Chanyeollie, you’re no fun,” he whines childishly. The frown on his mouth is so amusing, Chanyeol doesn’t bother rebutting. “I have to practically drag you out of your house these days. Are you going out with us on Friday, though? You can’t skip that! We’ve been planning it for over a month.”

 

“I don’t know if I’ll go,” Chanyeol answers vaguely, just to be difficult. It works when Sehun’s frown deepens, and, in a tantrum, he steps on Chanyeol’s foot under his desk, sending Chanyeol into a fit of laughter. “Now, why would I want to go if you’re hitting me?!” Sehun opens his mouth to reply, so Chanyeol presses on, “The fact that I don’t want to get shit-faced every weekend isn’t bad, Hunnie! I just happen to not enjoy looking like crap warmed over on Monday morning.”

 

“You still manage to look like crap every Monday morning,” Sehun retorts, without any malice. “You don’t need to drink in a bar for that, I guess.”

 

This is a conversation they’ve had before. Chanyeol’s well-versed in the beats and tempos of this dance. In a tired, gentle tone, he responds, “Still, I don’t need to go out all the time. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.”

 

“Of course there isn’t, Chanyeollie,” Sehun says, careful. “But after everything you’ve told me, I’d have figured you’d be more inclined to go out and get shit-faced, but I can count on one hand the times we’ve hung out since we met.”

 

Chanyeol rolls his eyes at the exaggeration: they see plenty of each other every day, sharing lunch in the cafeteria or the times Sehun likes to invite himself to Chanyeol’s broom closet of an office. But Sehun’s words linger after he’s stopped speaking. Chanyeol had wanted to escape the straight-laced, boring life he’d been leading in Seoul and the ghost of a recent, bittersweet break-up, so when an opening for a transfer in the art history department opened in Changwon’s art college, Chanyeol took it in a heartbeat. Since he arrived, however, he’s done nothing but stare at his laptop, waiting until classes started so he had a reason to put on pants, much like his routine had been back in the city.

 

A smile spreads small on Chanyeol’s lips under the guilt of being called out. In the span of a month, Park Chanyeol has proven to be a willing victim to Sehun’s whims.

 

Sehun’s victory is celebrated with a toothy grin. “Okay, I’ll go out with you on Friday to that stupid club,” Chanyeol relents. “Now stop making those weird faces at me, please, you’re scaring me.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Sehun laughs. “But it worked, didn’t it?” In a second, his expression sobers and he points a menacing finger at Chanyeol. “You better not back out from this, hyung, or else—”

 

“Or else, what?” Chanyeol asks, monotonous. “Are you going to put shaving cream in my underwear?”

 

“I wouldn’t put it past myself,” Sehun says, crossing arms over his chest. “I might be twenty-seven, but I can still pull the same pranks I did back in college.”

 

“Shut up,” Chanyeol groans, “you’re getting lamer by the _minute_ —”

 

 “Talk about lame,” Sehun huffs. “So, you’ll be there on Friday night?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Chanyeol says, waving his hand dismissively. Sehun exhales a small chuckle. “I’ll see you tomorrow so I can drag your drunk ass back home.”

 

“Trust me, Chanyeollie.” Sehun leans forward with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Chanyeol has the impulse to gulp. “I’ll make sure I have to drag yours.” With a last pat on Chanyeol’s shoulder, he heads to the door. “So you better be ready, you hear me?”

 

 “Alright, I’ll be ready.”

 

“I’ll see you there!”

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

Chanyeol is going to kill Sehun. Everyone at the table, really, but Sehun first because, when he had informed Chanyeol of Sehun’s friend Jongdae’s _little_ get-together, he’d forgotten to mention some details. One detail in particular, that Chanyeol thinks should be at the top of the list, is that the get-together would take place in a strip club.

 

A gay strip club.

 

For the past hour, they’ve watched young men dancing to bass-heavy songs and wrapping themselves around poles, fluid as a gazelle, wearing nothing but scant, sequined outfits that leave little to the imagination.

 

When Sehun mentioned they’d be going out with his friend Jongdae and his wife Sunyoung, Chanyeol’s first thought was a pub downtown, not a strip club in the seedier part of town.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me we were coming here?” Chanyeol hisses into Sehun’s ear.

 

Chanyeol’s exasperation doesn’t wipe the annoying ear-splitting grin off his friend’s face. “It was Jongdae’s idea! He knows the owner or something. Everyone knows each other here, you know.”

 

“A little heads-up would’ve been nice,” Chanyeol chides, taking a sip of his beer. “What if someone from work sees us? It’s my first week there, Sehun!”

 

“Relax!” Sehun’s bony elbow digs painfully into Chanyeol’s side. “It’s not like you have work tomorrow, and you’re not uncomfortable with this stuff, right?”

 

Chanyeol isn’t uncomfortable with men walking around in shorts. Chanyeol’s been out and proud for a good few years, but he wasn’t exactly planning on his first dive into Changwon’s nightlife to be a male strip club of all places.

 

“What you need,” Jongdae puts in, slinging an arm over Chanyeol’s shoulders, “is the main show to cheer you up!”

 

“I heard _he’s_ gonna be in tonight,” Sehun pipes in. “You’re gonna want to stay around for this.”

 

“Who is _he_?”

 

“This dude who dances like a freaking god,” Jongdae replies. “Makes me wish I wasn’t practically married sometimes.”

 

“What do you mean you wish you weren’t married?!” Sunyoung shoots Jongdae a death glare, and Jongdae, slouching in his seat, looks rightfully remorseful.

 

As if a spell was spoken, the lights dim, and a dancer, slim and slight, steps onto the stage. The man’s face is obscured by a masquerade mask, blond hair stylishly mussed, and clad in tight-fitting leather pants, a satin red vest covering his naked chest. The start of his show kills his friends’ conversations in an instant and the group falls into a keen silence. A red light replaces the purple and blue lighting, a sultry pop song plays over the speakers, and the guy struts with a deliberate swing to his hips, then stands at the edge of the stage to dance. He commands the stage easily, circling the pole seductively and lowering himself with his back arched so his perky ass stands out.

 

Chanyeol can’t take his eyes off him. In all his years on earth, he’s never seen what he considers living, breathing art like this man right in front of him.

 

When the show is over, the man collects the tips strewn on the dancefloor with a kind of dexterity honed by experience. Then, he leaves the stage with the same seductive gait amid thunderous applause.

 

“He’s fantastic, isn’t he?!” Sunyoung exclaims.

 

It’s like Chanyeol’s learning to speak all over again. “He is,” he says over an exhale of wonder.

 

Minutes after the man with the mask has left the stage, another show begins, but this one, manned by an older dancer, doesn’t capture the group’s attention in quite the same manner, so they continue drinking and chatting. Chanyeol’s glass never stays empty for long and it isn’t until he’s buzzed that he suspects that this was his friends’ plan all along.

 

Chanyeol’s friends’ voices come muffled through the haze. Sehun pushes him and the volume is jacked all the way up.

 

“C’mon, you gotta try it once!”

 

Chanyeol frowns. “Try what?” That’s what he thinks he says, but the words come out as a jumble.

 

Sehun laughs as he gives him another push.

 

“A private dance!” Sunyoung replies, grabbing his arm to help him out of his chair. Chanyeol suddenly notices Jongdae standing next to his chair—and why are they two of him? Chanyeol feels both entertained and ambushed by his friends encouragements. “You gotta do it because we already paid for it!”

 

A voice in the back of his mind tells him it’s a terrible idea. It’s probably the alcohol that drives him to say, in the steadiest voice he can manage, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

 

The group breaks into rowdy peals of laughter and cheers. Chanyeol giggles at his friends as he’s pushed out of his seat and guided to a backroom, the trajectory slipping out of his mind as soon as he registers it.

 

Chanyeol blinks past the fog when they reach a velvet curtain. Sehun exchanges quick words with a burly man standing at the side, and then Sehun’s pushing Chanyeol past the curtain.

 

“Room four.” Sehun gives him another push. “And remember to keep your hands to yourself!”

 

Chanyeol stumbles through the dimly lit hallway, taking his time counting the doors because he’s seeing double. Twice he gets the wrong door, but finally ends up in front of a wooden door with a ‘4’ written on a small whiteboard. Chanyeol knocks once and gets no response. Sober Chanyeol’s manners would make him wait until he’s allowed to come in; however, drunk Chanyeol’s patience is remarkably thin.

_To_ _hell with it_ , he thinks before he twists the knob and enters.

 

There are three things Chanyeol’s intoxicated brain notices at once: a small room, a wine-red sofa that spans the length of it, and lastly, a man sitting crossed-legged on said sofa, wearing a black party mask that hides half of his face. Surprise punches sobriety into Chanyeol when he realizes it’s the same man he saw up on stage earlier.

 

The man stands from the sofa. Sometime after his show, the satin vest was replaced by a jacket in the same shade as the sofa, but the leather shorts remain. “Oh, evening,” the guy says, polite and chirpy. “Make yourself at home.”

 

The stripper’s voice is husky, with a touch of command that urges Chanyeol to obey in a drunken waddle to the sofa. Here, Chanyeol discovers the man doesn’t reach past his shoulder, but his presence barely fits inside the room. Something about the stripper’s confidence is sensual and imposing, so Chanyeol can’t look away from him. And up close like this, there’s no denying that the guy is gorgeous. It’s a deadly kind of beauty, the kind that would make the toughest of men weak in the knees.

 

Chanyeol plops down on the sofa with all the finesse of an elephant.

 

“So, should I start?” the guy asks.

 

The stripper’s tone suggests Chanyeol doesn’t have a choice. Chanyeol nods jerkily. Standing in front of Chanyeol, the stripper pushes a button on a tiny remote and a slow, sexy song begins to play. The stripper sheds his jacket and stalks to Chanyeol with the same deliberate leisure from his earlier performance. He rests a hand on his shoulder to lower himself, spreading his legs as he goes down and grinding his hips above the floor.

 

Chanyeol is mesmerized. The fog of inebriety has let up, in time to fully take in the stripper’s slinky movements.

 

With the gracefulness of a ballet dancer, the man rises again and straddles Chanyeol, setting his knees next to Chanyeol’s thighs on the couch. Chanyeol can barely breathe, his head spinning with the heat from the man’s body, his faint scent—a man’s cologne that is both masculine and rousing. As the man begins a slow grind inches away from his lap, Chanyeol labors with the urge to touch, to feel, balling his fists by his side. Dainty fingers curl over Chanyeol’s shoulders for leverage, mouth dangerously close to his, so close that his hot breath fans over his skin—then, he pulls back, leaving Chanyeol reeling from desire.

 

Chanyeol catches the hint of a smile as the man gets to his feet. What a dreadful tease. Chanyeol loves it. The man turns and, nudging Chanyeol’s knees apart, he stands between his legs, only to bend down, baring his ass for Chanyeol—a small, perky ass that flares a fire within Chanyeol. From here, Chanyeol can admire the hourglass shape of his body, the sinuous muscle of his thighs and arms, and the long, broad expanse of his back ending in a miniature, delicate waist.

 

In all his years studying art, Chanyeol’s never seen such a masterpiece in his life. And though it’s been ingrained in him that touching isn’t necessary to admire a painting, he feels it essential in this case to explore and discover every inch of this man’s body with his own hands.

 

The guy leans back and hovers right above Chanyeol’s thighs, moving his hips to the sensuous rhythm of the music. As if reading his mind, the guy lifts himself and turns to face Chanyeol again, grabbing his hand to hold it over his head as he lowers himself into Chanyeol’s lap.

 

Abruptly, the guy stands up without letting go of Chanyeol’s hand, and Chanyeol panics, thinking that he’s said his murky thoughts out loud, but he spots the little smile threading at the corners of his lips, teasing secrets unknown to Chanyeol. He kneels in front of Chanyeol again and pushes his hips close to Chanyeol’s face, and Chanyeol’s hands immediately go to the waistband of the flimsy piece of clothing on his body.

 

Chanyeol hears the man’s breath hitch over the music. Dark eyes fall on Chanyeol imposingly. It dawns on Chanyeol then the boundaries he’s crossed, but the man’s hands cover Chanyeol’s, their weight encouraging.

 

It’s a hefty blow to the unspoken barrier standing between them. With alcohol-fueled boldness, Chanyeol traces reverent hands over the small of the man’s back and the roundness of his ass, all the while the guy’s crotch moves inches away from his face. The stripper holds onto Chanyeol’s shoulders and sits on his lap again, throwing his body and head back in a breathtaking sight. Firm muscles heave on his abdomen, the shadow under his adam’s apple shifting, his ribs protruded along his sides like piano keys, and Chanyeol is dying to touch, touch, touch.

 

In a slow and elegant move, the stripper straightens, his pink mouth expelling short breaths. His chest constricts and expands, skin dewy and pearly, and somehow, he hasn’t lost that ethereal edge about him. This time he’s fully seated on Chanyeol’s lap, leaning over him so Chanyeol is forced to look up. Chanyeol can make out small eyes through the slants in the mask, and inexplicably, he meets a strange feeling of deja-vu.

 

That’s not the question that comes out. In its stead, Chanyeol asks, “Can I take off your mask?”

 

“What for?” the man questions, voice raspy and breathless from exertion. It coils around Chanyeol’s gut and _squeezes_.

 

“To kiss you.” Chanyeol licks his lips. His mouth is numb with the alcohol, but with this closeness, the room has stopped spinning, like the guy has become his personal center of gravity. “If you would let me.”

 

“No, you can’t.” The stripper gives a minute shake of his head. Belying his response, his fingers drape over Chanyeol’s jaw. “But I can do this.”

 

Chanyeol registers his gasp before the slam of lips, followed by a slow tangle of tongues. It soon gains traction, with wandering hands and labored breaths and unfiltered moans. The guy kisses him with the wanting urgency that gripped Chanyeol since he walked into the room. Caught in the momentum, Chanyeol slips a thumb under the waistband of the stripper’s shorts and gasps when he’s slapped away, drawing his hands back to himself.

 

The guy pulls away with a deep breath, fingers still buried in Chanyeol’s hair. “You don’t wanna get in trouble with these dudes,” the guy whispers, before another peck. “Wait for me. I’m done after this.”

 

The stripper untangles himself from Chanyeol and gets to his feet. Chanyeol is confused until he notes a knocking on the door. By its volume, it seems to have been going for a while. Chanyeol waddles to the door on wobbly legs, and when he opens it, after the third attempt, the bouncer grips his arm to hurl him towards the hallway.

 

The last thing he registers is his head banging against the linoleum and his dinner going up the way it came from—then the world fades to black.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

Chanyeol awakes to a throbbing pain in his temples the next morning. Groaning, he curls in on himself and the mere motion threatens to split his head in two.

 

These are the things Chanyeol notices upon awakening: he’s still in yesterday’s clothes on a lime-green couch that he’s never seen before and his legs are tangled around an unfamiliar Pororo blanket. The last thing he notices is that one risky movement will send him face first onto a carpeted floor—which definitely does not belong to him.

 

Through bleary eyes, he realizes this is not his living room—he’s sure as hell he doesn’t own that many DVDs, especially not a copy of a Mariah Carey concert. A sound of clacking on the floor comes from within the apartment, and he thinks maybe he’s still dreaming, because that’s Toben, the dog he’d left with his parents in Seoul, coming to lick his face—when a short, light brown corgi appears, tongue out and ready to greet him.

 

Chanyeol shrinks back against the couch with a squeal. “Where the hell am I?” He takes a breath to recover and reaches forward to give the corgi a tentative pat. “Who are you?”

 

Footsteps precede a cheery voice. “That’s Mongryong!” a guy exclaims. “He gets very excited in the mornings and he’s not shy around strangers—kinda like me. Sorry about that! He’s my parents’ but I brought him over to be with me for a while.”

 

A man draped in a pastel pink robe walks into the living room, his small, youthful face split in a blinding grin. A new wave of nausea hits the back of Chanyeol’s throat when fragmented moments from the previous night come back.

 

It’s the guy from the strip club.

 

The stripper whose tongue had been miles deep down Chanyeol’s throat.

 

Shock must read plainly on Chanyeol’s face because the guy’s grin widens. He strokes Mongryong’s head, who yaps and runs off in the direction his owner had come. “Good morning,” the guy sing-songs, sinfully chirpy for this early in the morning. Chanyeol’s head throbs. “How did you sleep?”

 

“Awful,” answers Chanyeol, grimacing at the crack in his voice. “My head and back are killing me.”

 

“You don’t recover as fast as you used to, huh?” the guy jokes, chuckling. “Gotta leave clubbing for the youth.”

 

Chanyeol’s slightly miffed at the guy’s easiness, meanwhile his stomach is a riot—whether it’s nerves or nausea remains to be seen. “Very funny,” Chanyeol throws back, allowing a tiny smile. The guy’s cute, that’s for sure; his smile bunches up his cheeks, crinkling his eyes a little, and haloed in the light from the window in the back, he looks nearly as divine as the previous night. “I wasn’t planning on getting plastered, I was bamboozled by my friends…”

 

“Bamboozled?” The man tilts his head. “Is that what they call getting pissed nowadays?”

 

The guy is a tease on and off the clock, apparently, and judging by his grin, he’s enjoying it. Which makes Chanyeol’s pressing question even harder to utter. “Can you explain to me…” Chanyeol sits up and swallows, embarrassed. “What happened last night? How did I end up here?”

 

Chanyeol remembers clearly how he’d expected to wake up on another surface. The stripper’s bed, to be more specific. But he has no recollection of how he ended up on the couch instead.

 

The guy laughs, high and unabashed. It’s a rough, musical sound, which Chanyeol would appreciate more in another moment, when his head isn’t hammering away at him. “You really don’t remember anything?” He chuckles again at Chanyeol shaking his head. “You passed out in the hallway last night. I couldn’t find your friends—I figured they were probably in the VIP rooms and my shift was over anyway, so I took you home with me. I didn’t want to leave you in the hallway like that, the bouncers would’ve thrown you out into the street.”

 

Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise that Chanyeol doesn’t remember the previous night. “Oh, okay,” Chanyeol says, rubbing his neck, “thanks.”

 

“No, thank _you,_ ” the guy says, wrapping fingers over his waist. Chanyeol looks up with surprise. “Some creep was waiting around for me outside the club, so you gave me a nice excuse to avoid him.” He pokes a finger into Chanyeol’s curls. “So don’t be embarrassed, okay. You did a good deed by getting drunk off your face.”

 

“Woah don’t encourage me.” Chanyeol’s cheeks begin to cool down. “The last thing I need is feeling like my head is going through a meat grinder.”

 

“You’re so overdramatic,” the guy laughs, shaking his head. “But I won’t judge you because you saved me! Hey, wanna stay for breakfast? I make some mean blueberry pancakes.”

 

The guy fluffs his hair absently with a hand, his tongue skating out to moisten his lips. Chanyeol gets a flash of that pretty mouth driving sighs out of him, with the stranger in question nested in his lap, wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of shorts.

 

Chanyeol gulps. 

 

“I should head home.” Chanyeol stands, then pauses until a sudden spell of dizziness passes. “I should call Sehun, too. He’s probably worried, even though the dickhead practically ditched me.”

 

The guy arches a brow. “Sehun?”

 

“My dickhead of a friend.”

 

“Oh, okay.” The guy nods. “I’ll bring you some aspirin for your hangover before you go. I can’t in good conscience let you walk out like this.”

 

“ _Please_.”

 

Chanyeol’s slipped into his shoes, tucked his shirt into his pants, and arranged his hair into a presentable mess when Baekhyun comes back with a glass of water in one hand and aspirin in the other.

 

“Thanks,” Chanyeol mumbles, popping the pills into his mouth. “I was going to die on my way home.”

 

“So dramatic,” the guy laughs. “You aren’t working today, are you?”

 

“No, thank god,” Chanyeol replies, “but I do have some work to catch up on.”

 

A pile of homework is waiting back at home and the prospect sounds even more daunting with his headache. Briefly, Chanyeol has the small urge to stay in this stranger’s apartment, hunker down in the sofa and go back to sleep.

 

“Well, it was nice meeting you.” Chanyeol dips his head in an awkward bow. The guy snickers. “Thanks for everything—uh—”

 

“God, you don’t even know my name,” the man laughs again, and Chanyeol flushes harder this time. “It’s Baekhyun. And you’re welcome. Oh, wait—” Baekhyun slips his phone out of his front pocket. “Can I get your number?”

 

The way Baekhyun looks at him—somewhat amused, somewhat expectant—makes Chanyeol feel like he’d be an asshole if he said no. Baekhyun had brought him home and let him sleep on his couch after all; he could’ve easily left Chanyeol lying on the pavement outside the club. And Chanyeol would love to see his gorgeous face again, maybe under more normal circumstances.

 

Bravery isn’t his strongest suit, so he makes no such proposition, but he does grab Baekhyun’s phone to key in his number. Perhaps that could be a start. “Sure,” Chanyeol says. “Why not.”

 

“I’ll text you so we can hang out sometime,” Baekhyun tells him. Then, his smile turns impish. “Maybe we can finish what we started in that VIP room someday.”

 

Chanyeol doesn’t get the chance to sputter out a reply before the door is closed in his face. It’s when he’s on his way home in a cab that he gets a message from the stripper.

_see u around, cutie ;)_

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

It’s been a week since the semester started and Chanyeol hasn’t had time to learn the names of his students from the roster call. So when a pair of droopy eyes stare back at him from the second row to the left on Monday morning, Chanyeol almost drops the papers he’s holding.

 

Baekhyun waves at him, wearing a grin like he’s just been waiting for his reaction. It takes Chanyeol another moment to collect himself and continue the class, but he keeps stealing glances in Baekhyun’s direction the rest of the lecture, and focusing on 15th century Italian artists becomes more of a colossal ordeal than it should be.

 

Thirty minutes later, Chanyeol dismisses the class after several failed attempts at getting his concentration back. Baekhyun makes his way to his desk among students leaving the classroom and Chanyeol takes his time putting his things in his backpack, feigning a peculiar interest in a dent on the leather-bound cover of his book.

 

As all terrible things rush to happen, Baekhyun reaches his desk in no time. Chanyeol suspects the boy is a natural disaster. In tight, ripped jeans and a faded Marvel shirt, Baekhyun exudes a devastating aura even this early in the morning.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Park,” Baekhyun drawls, cocking his hips against the desk. “Nice class.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were one of my students?” Chanyeol hisses. “Did you know the whole time?”

 

“Of course I did,” Baekhyun answers easily. “But I knew you wouldn’t recognize me. You look kinda spaced out in the mornings.”

 

Chanyeol shoves a textbook into his backpack with more force than required. “I’m not really a morning person. And anyways, why did you lie?”

 

“I didn’t lie.” Baekhyun raises his brows. “I said I’ll see you around, didn’t I?”

 

In the back of his head, Chanyeol knows he is probably overreacting. But finding out the man who gave him a lap dance and made out with him—not to mention he almost took to bed—is a student, sounds logically high on his list of reasons for a breakdown. Then, embarrassment hits when Chanyeol remembers he passed out on said student and woke up with a severe hangover in his sofa.

 

Chanyeol makes a sound between a groan and a whimper. He can never catch a damn break. And Baekhyun’s smile right now looks like he’s never going to let him forget this.

 

“Right,” Chanyeol says, pointing a finger at Baekhyun. “So, you’re my student and I’m your professor—”

 

“Okay, I know where this is going,” Baekhyun says, laughing. “It’s not like I’m going to stalk you like the woman in Fatal Attraction or something—”

 

“But you also can’t tell anyone about what happened,” Chanyeol whispers. Baekhyun looks around, effectively determining there’s no one else in the room. “It was one time and it won’t happen again.”

 

“Well, that’s a downer,” Baekhyun retorts with a pout. “I was looking forward to showing you my new routine. I have this new move called the handstand—”

 

“No! None of that! No more strip dances!”

 

“I’m just kidding,” Baekhyun laughs. Chanyeol blushes. “God, you’re so easy to tease! But I get it, I won’t say a word.” A mischievous grin spreads on his lips. “Unless you want me to make other sounds?”

 

“No, stop!” Chanyeol hisses. Baekhyun’s cackle pricks at his skin, not unpleasantly. It’s the kind of laugh that drags anyone along, but Chanyeol does not feel like laughing at his current situation. “I’m going now so goodbye!”

 

Baekhyun leans against the desk, watching Chanyeol sling his backpack over his shoulder. The attention weighs his limbs down and Chanyeol grabs his things in stiff, awkward movements. God, he can’t wait to lock himself in his office to scream a little, maybe rub one off to calm down—

 

“See you around, Mr. Park.” Baekhyun grabs the travel mug Chanyeol left on the desk and hands it to him. “Don’t forget your coffee.” Baekhyun wrinkles his nose at the mug. “I knew you’d have a flaw—coffee tastes gross. It’s like piss if it looked like tar.”

 

“Don’t judge my drink choices,” Chanyeol grumbles. “Anyways, see you next week, Byun-ssi.”

 

“I’ll be looking forward to the next class,” Baekhyun says.

 

A promise runs through the sandpapery sound of Baekhyun’s voice. Chanyeol’s flushed cheeks tingle long after the dancer’s taken his leave.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

“So, you didn’t sleep with him,” Sehun says, “but you’re still freaking out for some reason?”

 

They’re having lunch in Chanyeol’s office. Chanyeol’s stuffed his face with noodles so he only levels his friend a glare, cheeks puffed out, as he munches away. It gives Sehun time to pick another piece of chicken and point it at him with an accusatory stare.

 

“You analyze everything too much, Chanyeollie,” Sehun proclaims. “You just made out with him when he was giving you a lap dance. You can’t even call it a one-night stand because you didn’t even make it to his bed.”

 

Chanyeol nearly chokes in the process of swallowing, and his voice is squeaky and whiny when he speaks, “I made out with one of my students while he was giving me a lap dance.” Chanyeol clears his throat. “It’s wrong, Sehun. Also, the kid is younger than me.”

 

It’s been two weeks since his visit to the strip club and Chanyeol has carried on with his classes as usual. Chanyeol should be praised for keeping his cool and professionalism; he shows no sign of knowing Baekhyun as more than a name in his roster call and thankfully Baekhyun hasn’t approached Chanyeol at all.

 

“Don’t call him ‘the kid’, it’s weird,” Sehun admonishes. “You’re twenty-seven, not seventy.”

 

“I’m still his professor, and if someone found out what happened I could get fired,” Chanyeol rebuts. “So, he’s _the kid_ from now on.”

 

“I never expected something like this from you.” Sehun snorts, chopsticks stirring his rice. “Getting a crush on a student in the first weeks of a new job sure is something. Even _I_ wouldn’t be able to pull something like that.”

 

Chanyeol groans, drops his head low for a second. “Shut up, you dickhead.” Sehun snickers, gives his head a couple of condescending pats, and Chanyeol snaps his head up just to steal some of his orange chicken.

 

“Matter of fact…” Sehun whispers, adopting a dramatic air. “Rumor has it that the guy you replaced got fired because he was caught with a student in this office.”

 

“Seriously?” Chanyeol gawks, then glances at his desk with disgust. Sehun nods somberly. “Oh my god, I’m so screwed. This is a bad sign.”

 

“Take it easy, Yeollie,” Sehun advises, bemused, taking a sip of his coke. “It’s not like you’re gonna do anything, right? Just take things easy and don’t overthink it.” Sehun levels him with a meaningful stare. “But I know you’re going to freak out anyway, because I can tell you’re doing it right now.”

 

“This is… a terrible idea overall,” Chanyeol concludes, and Sehun, shrugging, gives him a half-smile that tells Chanyeol he’s completely screwed.

 

“Well, it’s not like you’re going to see him outside of class again, right?” Chanyeol nods and Sehun whacks him on the shoulder before returning to his lunch. “So relax then, you idiot.”

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

Chanyeol does not deny Sehun’s claim of a crush. Because, admittedly, Chanyeol _is_ a bit attracted to Baekhyun.

 

But Sehun was wrong on one thing—he did see Baekhyun outside of class. In fact, he sees the boy everywhere: on the way to a class he’s already late for, in line at the coffee shop near campus, waiting at a bus stop, and most startling of all, dancing under the gingko trees in the quad with a group of friends.

 

Dressed in a loose white tee and harem pants, Baekhyun is a figurine plucked right out of a Degas painting. In the sultry light of dusk, Baekhyun’s dancing has none of the sensuality from his stripper persona, though it retains its sharpness. Here, he is fluid. Elegant. Precise. Moving with the unrelenting force of an ocean.

 

For short minutes Chanyeol can do nothing but observe, hypnotized, at the boy dancing across the quad. It’s only when someone bumps into him that Chanyeol resurfaces out of his dream-like trance and resumes his trek to his car in quick, hurried strides before he gets run over by another student on their way to class.

 

Chanyeol has made it a point to act normal and professional in front of Baekhyun. And that would be good and all, if Chanyeol’s attention didn’t inevitably drift towards the seat in the second row to the left every class. Baekhyun takes notes, laughs with the rest of the class when Chanyeol manages a joke that isn’t lame, and asks questions like any other student. So, there wouldn’t be a valid reason for Chanyeol to get distracted, except for the fact that Baekhyun is a vivid, walking distraction.

 

At a distance, Chanyeol realized something he hadn’t during their previous meetings: Baekhyun is—to Chanyeol’s endless sorrow—really, really cute. In the club, Baekhyun was sensual and captivating, but outside, in the soft light of morning, he’s nothing but a sleepy, adorable twenty-two-year-old dance major. He’s got a sweet face, the kind that looks best laughing, plump cheeks crunching smiling eyes and pink lips stretched in a slightly square grin. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of him, to the understated handsomeness in the breadth of his shoulders, the confident way he carries himself, the way he makes Chanyeol’s attention linger and his mind wander even long after he’s gone.

 

Chanyeol may have a teeny-tiny crush on Baekhyun, yes, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Sure, Baekhyun is a bit distracting when he’s smiling straight at him in class, when he’s pulling on his lower lip while focused on a test, when he gives Chanyeol a cheery goodbye and a pleasing sight of his ass as he walks out of the classroom—

 

Baekhyun is a constant source of distraction, but Chanyeol is fine with it. He’s fine with watching him in class, or whenever they cross paths in the hallways, exchanging perfunctory polite smiles, with a little more edge on Baekhyun’s side. But like Sehun said, nothing is coming out of this. Really, Chanyeol has this whole thing under control.

 

That is, until this particular Tuesday afternoon proves him wrong.

 

Halfway through the semester, Chanyeol makes it a point to organize a meeting with his students to check their progress so far. It’s not exactly full of surprises: by now he knows which students are flourishing, which are floundering, and which are somewhere in the middle, doing what needs to be done for a passing grade. It’s boring, truth be told, but Chanyeol has never been the type to crave change.

 

A surprise does come in the form of one Byun Baekhyun. Just as Chanyeol is heading to the bathroom during a small break between one student and another, Baekhyun slams into Chanyeol right outside his office—and isn’t that _perfect._

 

Purely out of instinct, Chanyeol’s hands fly to Baekhyun’s waist to steady him, and once the shock has passed, he’s about to reprimand whoever had knocked him in the stomach—that is, until Baekhyun blinks small, droopy eyes at Chanyeol, slowly crinkling with the impish smile spreading across his lips. Chanyeol forgets how to string a sentence together.

 

The incident is, in all its words, cliché and inappropriate—Chanyeol has begun to learn this last term is always, somehow, related to Baekhyun—though neither has the instantaneous presence of mind to correct the situation. And Baekhyun is warm and sweet-smelling, hips wide and perfect under Chanyeol’s hands, so can he really be blamed for not letting go?

 

“Sorry, professor, I wasn’t looking,” Baekhyun says, sounding the least bit apologetic. The hand he’d splayed over Chanyeol’s chest to steady himself remains there, and with a shot of alarm, Chanyeol realizes Baekhyun must notice the mounting beat of his heart. “It’s good you weren’t carrying your coffee this time, I wouldn’t wanna ruin one of your precious sweaters.”

 

There is a thinly veiled dig at his attire hidden there, but he’s not in the best state to come up with a good comeback. Instead, he says, eloquently, “Right. That would’ve been ugly.” At last, Chanyeol yanks his hands back and steps away from Baekhyun to head back to the office.

 

“You wanna look presentable for the rest of the kids,” Baekhyun says, following Chanyeol inside. “Though, they might give you rave reviews at the end of the semester if you were to do the rest of the meetings shirtless.”

 

When Chanyeol wheels around, he catches Baekhyun staring at his ass with that slick smirk of his. But Baekhyun apparently isn’t one to be daunted at being caught blatantly checking someone out, because those languid eyes take their time crawling over Chanyeol’s body without a single speck of shame.

 

“Mind if we start the meeting now?” Chanyeol asks, bordering on petulant, and gestures a bemused Baekhyun to take a seat.

 

If it hadn’t been clear from their previous exchanges, the meeting confirms two things for Chanyeol: Baekhyun’s not only gorgeous and an overachiever, but he’s also incredibly witty and amiable, capable of charming the pants off a statue if he puts his mind to it. A joke sits always ready at the tip of his tongue, delivered with a smile to die for, and Chanyeol finds himself laughing more times than he’d envisioned when he peeked at his schedule earlier that day. 

 

“I’m impressed your grades are this good,” Chanyeol says at some point, “considering that you…” He stops to watch Baekhyun raise his eyebrows. “Considering you have a night job.” He clears his throat. “It’s impressive.”

 

It dawns on him, with no small degree of embarrassment, that he’s repeated himself. Baekhyun glosses it over with a chuckle.

 

“Considering that I work at a strip club?” Baekhyun says, ever so blunt. Chanyeol stares blankly at him. “Well, what can I say? I’m just an amazing student.”

 

Chanyeol recognizes that passion. It was that sort of fire that drove him to major in art history when he was younger. As a child, he used to watch his mother work on paint-by-numbers, a hobby that small Chanyeol adopted; the peacefulness of immersing oneself in the colors, cheery or dreary, was what enamored him about art, and so his love had grown from coloring books with the simplicity of a child’s devotion.

 

But in the past two years, the fire has dulled to a fickle flame. Stress and overwork had shrunk the love that singed through him when he so much as gazed at his favorite paintings, and the reasons for choosing this job had become as nebulous as a watercolor painting. Even the paintings he’d hung on his office don’t bring him as much joy as they once did.

 

“It’s easier, I suppose,” Chanyeol comments, “when you like your major. It makes studying that much easier.”

 

Something in Baekhyun’s expression budges. It’s lost some of its glow, like a drifting cloud blocking out the sunshine. “I had to fight tooth and nail to be able to major in dancing,” Baekhyun admits. Low tone, flat expression. “That’s how much I like it.” A smile resurfaces, barely visible, releasing the tension in the office. “I also like my classes and professors.”

 

And there it is, the old Baekhyun is back. Chanyeol suppresses an exasperated sigh. “Thanks.” He shuffles the papers on his desk. “That’s it for today.”

 

“Thanks for having me, professor,” Baekhyun says, getting to his feet. “You’re great.”

 

Baekhyun walks to the door and throws a wink over his shoulder before leaving. Chanyeol gawks at his cheesiness; he can’t believe Byun Baekhyun is a real person. How someone can make any innocuous phrase sound like an entendre is definitely not a skill any human being can master.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

On Saturday evening, Sehun takes him to a club. One of the only clubs in town apparently.

 

Saturday nights at the club are disco themed, Sehun had informed him, so he’d insisted they wore flower-patterned shirts for the occasion and refused to tell Chanyeol where he got them. Not long into the evening, Sehun met a cute blonde girl named Seulgi at the bar, and for twenty minutes he’s been chatting her up, his attempts surprisingly successful by the smitten look on her face.

 

Chanyeol is halfway through his second drink, warding off his boredom by watching the crowd’s tragic attempts at dancing to a Bee Gees song.

 

“Mr. Park?”

 

Chanyeol recognizes the voice with a twist in his stomach. Baekhyun stands next to him with a beam that rivals the strobe lights above, which catch on the diamond stud in his left ear. Alarms begin to ring in his ears, because _why is Baekhyun here of all places,_ and he’s hyper-aware of Sehun and Seulgi ending their conversation to turn to Baekhyun as well.

 

“I didn’t expect to see you here!” Baekhyun’s lips are curved around a coy smile. The stripper looks gorgeous tonight, it takes all of Chanyeol’s willpower to keep from ogling him. Baekhyun’s dressed in a fitted blue shirt that makes his shoulders broader and bell-bottoms that hug his hips and thighs nicely, and to top it all, the black, large choker wrapped around his neck contrasts beautifully with his milky skin.

 

“Sehun dragged me here,” Chanyeol manages out, nodding his chin to his right. “Uh, Professor Sehun.”

 

Sehun steps in from Chanyeol’s side to offer his hand to Baekhyun. “I’m Sehun. Big fan of yours, Byun-ssi.”

 

Baekhyun grins when he returns the handshake, doing a full-body scan of Sehun. An approving upwards curl to his smile appears when he takes in Sehun’s long legs. “And you’re the famous Oh Sehun. The admiration is mutual. Though it’s such a shame I’ve never been in one of your classes.”

 

Sehun isn’t even fazed by Baekhyun’s shameless assessment. In fact, Sehun grins like he’s basking in the attention. “Thank you, Byun-ssi. Maybe I could make a place for you next semester—”

 

Seulgi, who had been watching the exchange with growing disbelief, clears her throat loudly enough for the rest to turn to her. “Sehun, what if we dance? Right now?”

 

Sehun blinks down at Seulgi as if he’d completely forgotten she was there. “Oh, right. Sure.” He shoots Baekhyun and Chanyeol a suggestive grin before he lets Seulgi drag him toward the dancefloor. “Have a nice time!”

 

Baekhyun’s mouth rounds into a perfect ‘o’. “Was that his girlfriend?” Before Chanyeol can reply, Baekhyun adds, “That’s a nice piece of ass she has all to herself, damn.”

 

Chanyeol’s ears are aflame on Sehun’s behalf. “Sehun met her here,” Chanyeol chuckles awkwardly, “and the loser’s been trying to get into her pants for the past hour. I was bored out of my mind.”

 

Baekhyun cocks his head, a swath of blond hair falling over his made-up eyes, which are sparkling now with a lascivious gleam. “And here I thought you two had something going on.”

 

“No, no, no, no.” Chanyeol laughs, shaking his head. The club is hotter than it was seconds ago. “Sehun’s just my asshole friend. I think I have better judgement.”

 

Baekhyun laughs loudly over the music. Chanyeol hasn’t been able to get that sound out of his head since he left his apartment that first time; it’s a musical sound, coarse but tinkling, like bells dancing in the breeze. “Well, that’s a shame. Since you’re both tall I think you would look hot as fuck together. Also,” Baekhyun gives Chanyeol a slow once-over, “you clean up really well, Mr. Park.”

 

Chanyeol’s face burns under the praise. “Thanks… I was sort of forced into wearing this.” The fluorescent lights change to red and purple and blue. Baekhyun’s grin is blinding, and his eyes, smudged with dark eyeshadow, are bewitching in the relative darkness of the club.

 

Chanyeol feels terribly hypocritical talking to Baekhyun here, when he was the one to underscore that any type of relationship outside of student-professor was off the table. But he can’t move away, can’t even look away from the other man. The alarm bells ring louder when Baekhyun sidles up to him, so close he gets a whiff of his cologne, sweet and musky and alluring.

 

“Wanna dance?”

 

“I think I’ll just have a drink,” Chanyeol replies. “But thanks for the offer.”

 

“It’s almost empty,” Baekhyun points out. “Let me buy one for you and then we can dance!”

 

Before Chanyeol can turn him down, Baekhyun clamps around Chanyeol’s wrist and tugs him out of his stool. It’s such a sudden motion, Chanyeol can’t react fast enough to retract his hand, and then he’s following Baekhyun down the bar to fetch the bartender. Baekhyun bends across the counter, wielding a bright grin and openly flirting with the bartender as the man makes their drinks.

 

Chanyeol has an up-close-and-personal moment with Baekhyun’s ass until he leans back, strawberry daiquiris in each hand and a smarmy smile on his face. “This is the best drink you’ll ever have!”

 

“It’s a daiquiri,” Chanyeol says, half laughing. Fruity drinks are the only type of alcoholic drinks he likes, since he can’t stand the tangy taste of beer. His friends in college used to tease him relentlessly for his “girly” choices in drinks, but Baekhyun doesn’t seem to care. He just looks on expectantly as Chanyeol takes a sheepish sip, licking his lips afterwards to taste the leftover sugar. “How did you figure out I’d like daiquiris?”

 

“I have a good eye,” Baekhyun says, a touch smug. Chanyeol laughs, because he’s adorable. “You look like the kind of guy who prefers a good piña colada over beer, which means you have good taste.”

 

“Am I that predictable?”

 

Baekhyun tilts his head, assessing him. Creases appear on his chin as he folds in his lips, and Chanyeol is torn between telling him it was a joke and looking down at his shoes just to avoid that piercing stare. The beat changes and Baekhyun’s face lights up, breaking into a broad grin. “That’s my song!”

 

Chanyeol recognizes the tune. ABBA’s _Take A Chance On Me_. “I like this song,” Chanyeol comments. Baekhyun doesn’t let him say more—he drags Chanyeol by the hand towards the dancefloor. “Wait, Baekhyun! I can’t dance!”

 

“C’mon, don’t be a bore!” Baekhyun pulls him harder until they’re mingling within the pulsing crowd. “I’ll teach you!”

 

In his twenty-seven years of life, Chanyeol has never been called a good dancer. A passable one at times, a terrible one at others, that is when he’s stepping over his partner’s feet instead of following the beat. This time Chanyeol does his best to keep up with the dancer, though he can never quite match Baekhyun’s fluid movements. Baekhyun has a way of moving his hips that is mesmerizing, his stare flirtatious and tantalizing, a result from years of professional dancing and stripper practice. It’s distracting, but Chanyeol manages to settle a rhythm and keep his feet from crushing his partner’s, and as the song goes on, Baekhyun’s encouraging smiles give Chanyeol enough confidence to loosen up.

 

“ _If you change your mind, I’m first in line!_ ” Baekhyun sings at the top of his lungs. “ _Honey, I’m still free! Take a chance on me!_ ” Chanyeol laughs at his heartfelt rendition. Baekhyun looks thoroughly happy on the dancefloor, face split with a stunning smile. It’s an arresting sight, seeing him glow with the joy of singing and dancing without a care in the world.

 

“I like this song!” Chanyeol shouts over the music. “I’ve never much liked disco before, but I like this one!”

 

“Did I change your mind?” Baekhyun jokes, poking Chanyeol on his abdomen playfully until he’s barking out a laugh. ABBA gives to Whitney Houston’s _I Wanna Dance with Somebody_. Baekhyun sings along just as loudly as the previous song and makes no move to leave the dancefloor, so Chanyeol stays with him, dancing and singing his heart out. 

 

After a while, they decide to break out of the throng and head outside for fresh air. They step into a courtyard, where a handful of plastic tables stand among a few trees, fairy lights adorning their trunks and branches, and wrapped around the wooden trellis overhead. Chanyeol picks a single table while Baekhyun gets them drinks. It shouldn’t surprise Chanyeol that Baekhyun returns a couple of minutes later with a raspberry daiquiri in each hand.

 

“I wanted to change it up a little bit so I went for a different flavor this time,” Baekhyun says, sipping from his drink. He looks awfully pleased when Chanyeol laughs.

 

“I gotta say… you’ve got my tastes down pat,” Chanyeol teases. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or concerned that I’m this predictable.” He stops in the middle of drinking as a memory dawns on him. “Oh, by the way… what were you going to say inside earlier? I wanna hear it.”

 

“Well… you’re not really that predictable,” Baekhyun replies after a moment. “Though there are moments where you’ve caught me by surprise—like when you said we were just going to be professor and student... Let’s just say I’m not used to men turning me down.”

 

Chanyeol was teasing, he didn’t think Baekhyun would give him an honest answer, and now, he nearly wishes he hadn’t asked at all. In a flash of panic, he worries that he may have offended Baekhyun by rejecting him and he has the impulse to explain himself again. But there isn’t resentment or disdain in Baekhyun’s voice, just a sort of interest, like he can’t quite piece Chanyeol together.

 

“Oh, sorry, I guess?” Chanyeol says, hesitant. Baekhyun barks out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. Chanyeol frowns. “Okay, were you just playing with me?”

 

“No, not at all!” Baekhyun waves his hands, still laughing a little. “It’s just—that was also unpredictable of you! But you know what,” Baekhyun leans in and Chanyeol instinctively leans back, only to find himself pressed against the back of his chair, “I like that you know what you want because that makes you hard to get. It’s more interesting that way.”

 

Every brush of Baekhyun’s breath across his face makes Chanyeol’s heartbeat quicken. Chanyeol’s attention is glued to Baekhyun’s pink, soft-looking lips moving around a husky whisper, as sharp and cloying and dangerous as his gaze.

 

Chanyeol’s brain finally catches up to Baekhyun’s words. “Uh, I’m not playing a game,” he stammers, and Baekhyun bites his bottom lip to quell a laugh. “I don’t care about what other men do, it’s like you said, me and you are just going to be—”

 

“Professor and student! Yes, I know!” Baekhyun hollers and Chanyeol chuckles. “I heard it loud and clear the first time, Mr. Park, and I respect your decision. Well, I guess we’re a little more than that now that we’ve literally danced to disco together, don’t you think? Like it or not, that makes us acquaintances.”

 

“Acquaintances,” Chanyeol echoes, a playful ring to his tone. “I can live with that, I think.”

 

A pleased smile threads at the corners of Baekhyun’s lips. All the dancing left patches of sweat on his skin and mussed up his hair, though Baekhyun remains as attractive as ever, if not even more so. “So, how are you liking our lovely, sleepy town so far?” Baekhyun’s tongue glides over his lips, drawing Chanyeol’s attention to the mole above his upper lip. “Or do you miss the city?”

 

“It’s nice.” Chanyeol shrugs. “A little boring but nice.”

 

Baekhyun gasps, placing a palm on his chest. “Boring? Changwon is anything but boring!”

 

“There’s not much to do here,” Chanyeol says, offhanded. “And the quiet is a little unsettling. I didn’t realize how used to the noise of the city I was until I couldn’t sleep at night without it. All I hear at night now is my neighbor snoring.”

 

Back in Seoul, his apartment hadn’t exactly been filled with noise. Every day without fail Chanyeol came back from work to an empty apartment and a single ramen cup, much like he does now—it’s just that back then, he had other noises to substitute the unsettling silence and loneliness.

 

“That sounds less than ideal.” Baekhyun scrunches his nose. It’s such a cute gesture, Chanyeol doesn’t think it’s on purpose. “But we can do something about the rest! There are lots of places worth seeing.”

 

“Like where?”

 

At the mysterious little smile Baekhyun slips him, Chanyeol gets another murky flashback to the VIP room and his face suddenly feels too warm for the nighttime air. It doesn’t help that Baekhyun’s tone is velvety and suggestive when he says, “You’ll see when I show you.”

 

Chanyeol takes a sip of his daiquiri in a poor attempt to hide his blush. When he’s done, he cocks an eyebrow at Baekhyun over his glass. “I haven’t agreed to anything. Why are you so sure I’ll go with you?”

 

“Because you’re bored.” Baekhyun shrugs casually. “And I know you want to find out.”

 

The twinkle in Baekhyun’s eyes is full of promise and it sparks a curiosity inside Chanyeol that he tries not to show in his expression. Chanyeol’s weekends consist of grading homework, crafting his lesson plans, and eating take out on his couch, so the kind of change in his routine that Baekhyun is offering is tempting… though Chanyeol isn’t an easy man to crack.

 

“No,” Chanyeol replies, resolute. “You’re a student. It wouldn’t be appropriate to—”

 

“Oh, c’mon,” Baekhyun moans, rolling his eyes. “I’m just asking for your company, I’m not gonna suck your dick.”

 

Heat tickles his nape at the call-out. Has he really been acting like a self-righteous prick all this time? It makes him sound like a cranky old man, to his dismay, and it’s not like he didn’t use to have fun in Seoul. Maybe it’s the geriatric cardigans—as Sehun likes to dub them—that has made him forget he’s not _that_ much older than Baekhyun.

 

Reluctantly, Chanyeol murmurs, “Okay, I’ll hang out with you sometime,” and before Baekhyun’s poorly concealed smirk can grow any bigger, Chanyeol adds, “but I said sometime, as in not right now and _perhaps_ not ever. It’s just a possibility that I’m willing to consider depending on the offer.”

 

Baekhyun’s smile is crooked and impish. “That won’t stop me from trying, trust me.” He grabs his half-empty glass and stands. “I have to get back to my friend now. Be careful with the drinks! You don’t wanna have to end up like last time.” Baekhyun tosses him a wink while Chanyeol sputters in embarrassment. “See ya, Mr. Park.”

 

The dancer walks away with a deliberate swing to his hips, like the little devil he is, effectively hooking Chanyeol’s attention to his ass. Predictably, he looks over his shoulder to catch Chanyeol in the act, cackling before he goes on his merry way and leaving a flustered Chanyeol at his table.

 

At the entrance to the patio, Baekhyun meets up with a man—tall, dark, and fashionably handsome—who doesn’t hesitate to put an arm around his waist. Baekhyun slips a hand in the man’s back pocket, leaning in to whisper something in his ear, and shoulder to shoulder, they walk back inside the club.

 

Chanyeol’s throat singes with the burn of a tequila shot. This is not that surprising, really. Baekhyun doesn’t look the type to be date-less on a Saturday night, Chanyeol is dumb for not reasoning that sooner. But Chanyeol doesn’t want to think about how much he’d wanted to hold onto his hips as they moved to the beat that night, how it’d felt touching him a month ago, how his lips had looked stretched into a grin.

 

Most of all, Chanyeol can’t stop thinking about how Baekhyun’s confident façade had wavered when Chanyeol had turned him down, and if, when Baekhyun said he wasn’t used to men turning him down, he’d meant Chanyeol was the first.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

Do Kyungsoo is handsome.

 

He is incredibly, infuriatingly handsome.

 

Kyungsoo is also the Vocal Performance professor in Changwon’s arts college, and the owner of a very distracting mouth, a sharp jaw, and a body that looks fit under his collared shirt and khaki slacks. The man is delectable, in a quiet but alluring way. The kind of guy Chanyeol’s mom would introduce to one of his cousins with the sure prospect of marriage.

 

“Want some coffee?” Kyungsoo asks, lips curved on one side. “You’ve been standing next to the vending machine for a while.”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Chanyeol sputters, feeding the machine a few coins. The coffee can rolls down with a metallic clatter and Chanyeol bends down to grab it from the slot. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

 

Kyungsoo chuckles. Chanyeol likes him best when he smiles; the ends of his eyebrows tilt downwards, like his laugh has been surprised out of him, and the bow of his lips takes the adorable shape of a heart. “Too much work?”

 

All the hours Chanyeol has spent bent over his desk staring at his laptop and paperwork in the past weeks have taken a toll on him. A headache pounds away in his temples, certainly stemming from stress and caffeine shortage. “It’s terrible. I can’t wait for the semester to be over.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Kyungsoo takes a swig of his canned coffee. “But after midterms, the rest of the semester flies by like this.” Kyungsoo snaps his fingers. Chanyeol startles, ripping a small laugh from the other. “So, you don’t have to worry much.”

 

 _Or I could tell you more about it,_ Chanyeol intones, _over coffee sometime_. Chanyeol cringes at how cheesy it sounds. It would be even worse spoken aloud, so he decides to leave the corny pick-up lines for Sehun and chats up Kyungsoo about his current subject—the impact of East Asian art on European culture—and recent gossip floating around the faculty.

 

Chanyeol has spent the better part of the semester thinking, rather irrationally, of Baekhyun. Since their encounter at the club, Baekhyun has not only taken to asking more questions than usual in class, but also staying afterwards to chat about the lesson. Chanyeol isn’t sure if it was better when Baekhyun ignored him, because this new development is starting to wear on his patience; the maddening way Baekhyun has to sweeten his voice, to brandish a smile that borders on coy under long lashes, while talking about something as inane as the brush techniques dead geezers used about four hundred years ago.

 

Kyungsoo is a recent distraction, and a handsome one at that. One that promises to rid Chanyeol of any wayward thoughts about a certain charming stripper-slash-student.

 

“What were you doing talking to the hot professor?” Sehun questions, when Chanyeol joins him for lunch in the cafeteria. “He’s new in town like you.”

 

“He told me,” Chanyeol replies. “We kinda bonded over how boring this town is.”

 

“That’s because you never go anywhere other than campus and the corner convenience store.”

 

Chanyeol is still weighing the benefits of replacing one distraction with another when Sehun leans forward, a tiny curl on his lips that implies a leer, and whispers, “He’s also single, if you wanted to know.”

 

It’s an interesting thing to consider, to say the least.

 

It’s not until later that afternoon when he’s sitting behind his desk that he forgets about the conversation. The class is taking a quiz. A bored Chanyeol makes a cursory scan of the room, and as per usual, his eyes fall on the seat in the second row to the left. Baekhyun is staring out the window, chin in his cupped hand, lower lip puckered in a pout, that bubblegum mouth Chanyeol has seen up close and kissed before…

 

But what intrigues him most is Baekhyun’s expression, dazed and gloomy, gaze lost in the rain-splashed glass. It’s the first time Chanyeol has seen Baekhyun distracted in class, let alone in the middle of a quiz. Chanyeol wonders if Baekhyun’s mood is a reflection of the weather. A spring shower had started at dawn, no sign of receding soon, and inevitably the rain-induced lethargy had soaked into the room. Even Chanyeol had seriously contemplated going to work at all that morning when his shoes had gotten wet while walking to his car.

 

At long last, Baekhyun sighs, bends over his desk and returns to the test with renewed determination, writing furiously to make up for lost time. Chanyeol spends a good portion of the class wondering what the boy was thinking, if he’s truly sad, whether it is because of the weather or something else, beyond Chanyeol’s knowledge.

 

As students trickle out of the classroom, Chanyeol debates what to do. Baekhyun walks by his desk, offering him a cheery smile, and Chanyeol decides to act on his instinct before he misses his chance.

 

“Uh, Byun-ssi,” Chanyeol calls flippantly. Baekhyun whirls, surprised. “How’d it go?”

 

“The quiz?”

 

Chanyeol puts his things in his backpack, stalling, as the last straggling students leave the classroom. “You seemed a bit distracted.”

 

“You caught me, Mr. Park,” Baekhyun laughs, a jaunty sound, frisky. A far-off cry from the dispirited Baekhyun during the quiz. “Guess the weather got to me.” 

 

Chanyeol smiles, indulgent, though he does let some authority bleed into his voice. “Well, be careful with that—you wouldn’t want to have to take this class twice. I’m not lenient on slackers.”

 

“Who knows,” Baekhyun is quick to reply, “maybe I’d like to take this class twice.”

 

The hint of a smile on Baekhyun’s lips is enough to make Chanyeol feel warm under his collar. Baekhyun spins on his heels, ready to leave, then stops a couple of steps away and turns back to Chanyeol, a new light flickering in his eyes. Chanyeol is amused, but also a bit daunted. That’s the kind of look Chanyeol should be aware of by now, but he can do nothing but stare at the grin Baekhyun can barely tamp down with his front teeth.

 

“I got an idea,” Baekhyun says, voice earnest. “I know the first place I’ll take you to.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Byun-ssi.”

 

“The places I wanted to show you,” Baekhyun elaborates. “To prove to you that this town isn’t as boring as your stiff Seoulite ass thinks.”

 

Chanyeol pretends to rack his memory with pursed lips, just to give Baekhyun the feeling that he hadn’t been thinking about his unfulfilled promise ever since it was made. “I think I have a recollection of you buying me a drink that I didn’t ask for and dragging me to the patio of a club.”

 

Baekhyun inclines forward, holding Chanyeol’s gaze steadfastly. “So, are you coming?”

 

Chanyeol reads anticipation on Baekhyun’s gaze, searching and challenging at once, pink lips stretched in a little crooked smile. Not for the first time that day, Chanyeol is reminded that Baekhyun is devastatingly gorgeous. Chanyeol’s gaze drops from Baekhyun’s face to trace the breadth of his shoulders stretching his military green jacket, a rather tight Star Wars shirt underneath that barely covers his abdomen—definitely not weather-appropriate—and his pretty, dainty hands clutching the straps of his backpack, the jeans that stretch over his thighs so nicely...

 

Baekhyun tilts his head, two bunny teeth scraping his bottom lip, the edges of his mouth curled with amusement. Chanyeol considers his options. Baekhyun had looked a little lonely. Perhaps he’s simply seeking company—though Chanyeol’s company is a little questionable—and Chanyeol should listen to Sehun’s advice and get that stick out of his ass. The boy is offering to take him out and show him around; maybe fishing for extra credit, _or_ _something more_ , but it certainly wouldn’t hurt Chanyeol to get out of his apartment for reasons other than work and food.

 

“Sure,” Chanyeol says, before he thinks better of it. “I don’t have anything to do on Saturday.”

 

Victory splits Baekhyun’s face into a huge grin, eyes disappearing into crescents. _Cute Cute Cute._ “Nice!” A loud clap from Baekhyun startles him. “Meet me at the bus stop next to the park at five.”

 

At his age, Chanyeol’s well aware of what trouble looks like; he’s seen it plenty of times throughout his life. Trouble looked like the vocalist of a punk rock band back in college, tattoos running down his arms and curling around his neck. It looked like the girl who challenged him to skinny dip in the sea after his high school graduation and got all their things stolen as a result.

 

In the present, trouble looks like a cute boy in a Star Wars shirt with a perky ass and a mischievous smile. But he’s exactly the kind of trouble Chanyeol has never known to stay away from—because, deep down, Chanyeol has always liked a bit of challenge.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

Baekhyun is already waiting at the bus stop when Chanyeol arrives at quarter after five on Saturday.

 

Baekhyun’s face is turned towards the road, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, so Chanyeol takes a moment to observe him. Baekhyun’s hair is fluffed up, like he’s just stepped out of the shower, effortlessly casual in ripped jeans and high-top vans. Chanyeol had spent a good fifteen minutes deciding what to wear, so as not to give the impression that the outing was a date, and in the end settled on a black shirt and jeans. But as Baekhyun turns to him, bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon, Chanyeol can’t help the spark of giddiness that tickles his ribcage.

 

“Hey, Mr. Park!” Baekhyun greets with a wave. 

 

“Byun-ssi,” Chanyeol calls, as a way of greeting. The formality in his tone makes him cringe right after, and he stands there, not quite sure what to do. “Sorry I’m late, I sort of got lost.”

 

Baekhyun regards Chanyeol with a guarded smile. Chanyeol sucks on his bottom lip, thinking Baekhyun is going to comment on how nervous he looks and embarrass him, but instead he says, “Call me Baekhyun. We’re not in a classroom right now.”

 

“Force of habit,” Chanyeol replies with a shrug, though his ears are burning. “So, where are you taking me? Should I be worried?”

 

Baekhyun cracks a grin, that square grin that shows all his teeth, as brilliant as the sunshine in his eyes. Chanyeol nearly forgets what he’s asked until Baekhyun gives a coy response, “Maybe.” Then, with a voice edging on lascivious, he adds, “Okay, this is a nice change from the old-man cardigans you wear in class.”

 

Chanyeol gives him a deadpan, tilting his head with petulance. “For your information, I happen to like those cardigans and sweaters. They’re comfortable and they make me look professional, and I also like how I look in the—” Baekhyun giggles and Chanyeol ends his spiel. “You’re annoying, did you know that?”

 

“Oh, I do know.” Baekhyun hooks their arms together in an obvious attempt to not let Chanyeol escape. Chanyeol stiffens, feet leaden, under the warm contact. “Now, shall we start our stroll?”

 

The walk from the Girls’ High School down the cobblestoned path to the park is short, five minutes spent chatting about the weather. The cherry trees are bursting with clouds of pale pink, scattering petals along the winding paths that tread into the forest, where the sunshine ripples through the canopy. The smell of petrichor leftover by the recent rain showers emanates from the grass, and Chanyeol breathes it in, lets the sun and the chirping of birds wash over him.

 

The scenery reminds Chanyeol of one of his favorite Monet paintings: _Le Jardin de l'artiste à Giverny_. Peonies, irises and roses. A pastel deluge of blue and green and pink that radiates peace and serenity.

 

“This is nice,” Chanyeol says, looking around. The last time he had seen cherry blossom trees was in his senior year of college during the Spring Festival on an awkward date set up by his mother, back when he’d still let her. “It’s beautiful.”

 

“Is it still boring, city boy?” Baekhyun taunts.

 

“City boy?” Chanyeol cocks a brow, lips quirked. “I’m older than you, country boy.”

 

Baekhyun looks up, surprised, before a laugh bubbles out of him. “This isn’t exactly the country. We have Lotte Mart and McDonald’s.”

 

“It kind of feels like it.” Chanyeol looks up at the azure strips of cloudless sky among the canopy. “Or because it’s way quieter than Seoul, so it feels like we’re in a whole different place.”

 

Back in Seoul, park trails were congested with joggers and dog walkers, even in the mornings, and at night Yeouido park harbored packs of college students or office workers drinking and talking and laughing on the banks. Here, besides an older couple with a child near the bridge, and another family of tourists taking pictures, there aren’t many people around. The quiet sounds of birds and ribbons of sunshine pooling on the trails gives the park the illusion of ambling along in a dream.

 

“What did you do back in Seoul?”

 

There’s the smallest of indents between Baekhyun’s brows. Curiosity. Like he’s trying to read the inner recesses of Chanyeol’s mind. Though Chanyeol’s been told he’s an open book, there must be something Baekhyun’s after that he can’t see in plain sight. What could be interesting about Chanyeol, he hasn’t the faintest idea.

 

“I studied.” Chanyeol puckers his mouth as he considers. “I drank with my colleagues.” He ends with a helpless shrug. Baekhyun’s eyebrows slant in disbelief.

 

“That’s it?” Baekhyun snorts. It’s an ugly sound that wrinkles his nose and makes him look younger than his actual age. “You weren’t exactly living, Mr. Park.”

 

“What do you consider living, then?” Chanyeol doesn’t mean to sound defensive, but that’s how it sounds to his ears. Baekhyun doesn’t seem put off, though, as he breaks out a grin.

 

“ _This_.” His eyes trail the trees pointedly. “Walking through nature. Taking your time to see beautiful things. Dancing all night at the club. Doing stuff you wouldn’t dare to do every day.”

 

Baekhyun’s words are like a punch to the gut. One after another, they leave Chanyeol winded from the truth laced in them, though his smile never falters. Somewhere between college and grad school, Chanyeol had lost himself. He used to have fun in college: partying during weeknights and nursing hangovers from off-brand whiskey in the mornings, waking up in different houses on the weekends. Then grad school along with and work and classes took a toll on him, until his schedule consisted solely of a sad three-step pattern of sleep, study and sleep again.

 

Years later, nothing much has changed—all he does is sleep, work and sleep again. It’s like he’s caught in rapid waters, with no way out, and his only reprieve is to wait for the current to spit him out and leave him high and dry. Chanyeol feels so out of breath sometimes, he has to struggle not to grasp at his throat like a drowning man. Though, in reality, his life seems to sludge by, drip by drip, the days blurring together until he can’t tell the dates apart any longer.

 

Baekhyun is observing him quietly, that ruminating smolder back in his gaze. Even if he’s just snapped out of a depressing reverie on his life, Chanyeol isn’t going to give Baekhyun the satisfaction of being right so easily.

 

“Maybe,” Chanyeol replies, offhanded. “Some people are happy in their routines, though. They enjoy the feeling of safety in knowing that nothing will change.”

 

“True,” Baekhyun concedes, “but for some people it’s boring.”

 

“And which one do you think I am, then? The boring ones who love routine?”

 

“Not really,” Baekhyun says, a pensive smile on his lips. “I think you’re pretty unhappy with your routine, even though you don’t want to admit it. You looked so happy dancing the other night at the club.”

 

Chanyeol’s smile is stilted, the spring warmth pooled in his cheeks. Baekhyun’s hit the nail on the head again. “We were dancing to ABBA,” he jests. “Of course I was happy.”

 

Baekhyun laughs, slugs Chanyeol on the arm. Chanyeol chuckles, a mix of surprised and amused at the gesture, but Baekhyun doesn’t seem to care. Chanyeol has begun to understand that flirting comes as naturally as dancing to Baekhyun.

 

The walk is surprisingly not awkward. They pass by a couple of high school students singing a heartfelt rendition of _Is This Love_ with an acoustic guitar and Baekhyun picks on the rhythm easily, humming and tapping his thigh to the tune. Chanyeol enjoys the sultry sound of his voice. For the first time, Chanyeol doesn’t feel the pressure to come up with an interesting topic in the presence of a stranger, and Baekhyun, despite his bubbly personality, looks comfortable in this silence.

 

When they reach the tunnel, Baekhyun tugs on Chanyeol’s sleeve to guide him towards the benches lining the banks of the lake. Fallen leaves litter the place in amber-green and Chanyeol sweeps the wooden surface of the bench clean before he sits down.

 

“Here’s the best part of our little excursion.” Baekhyun unzips his backpack and pulls out two bottles of Chamisul. “Alcohol!”

 

Baekhyun does a cheery little dance holding the bottles. Chanyeol laughs at his silliness. Baekhyun grins proudly, like this response is his greatest feat to date, and sets the bottles on the bench.

 

“And kimbap!” Baekhyun pulls a container and places it beside the bottles. “Now we have a little picnic.”

 

Baekhyun leaves his backpack on the ground and sits across from Chanyeol. He opens the container and hands Chanyeol a tinfoil-wrapped kimbap.

 

“Do you always take people on picnics?” Chanyeol asks, pouring soju into his cap.

 

“Sometimes.” Baekhyun chews, thoughtful. “I mostly come here alone.” He takes another bite of his food. “I like how quiet and peaceful it is.”

 

“You didn’t strike me as the type who likes quiet.”

 

Baekhyun chuckles. “You’d be surprised.” He sips from his cap carefully so as not to spill. “I can keep my mouth shut sometimes. But my friend Yixing says I even make noise in my sleep.”

 

Chanyeol’s shoulders shake with a loud wheeze. “Why am I not surprised.”

 

“Hey, I brought you food and booze,” Baekhyun says, mock affronted. “You have to be nice to me.”

 

“Thank you, Baekhyun-ssi,” Chanyeol says, smiling adoringly. Baekhyun beams at him, fluttering his lashes coquettishly. “For the picnic and the trek. It was nice.”

 

“Didn’t I say you’d have a good time.” Baekhyun’s grin is self-satisfied. Two rice grains are stuck to his cheek, clinging on while Baekhyun munches away. Before Chanyeol can warn him, Baekhyun wipes them away distractedly with the heel of his hand.  “I haven’t come here with someone in a long time. I usually just come up here to dance.”

 

“Do you like dancing outside?”

 

The smile he offers Chanyeol makes the sun pale in comparison. “I love dancing anywhere, really. I know it’s a terribly cliché answer, but dancing makes me happy.”

 

“I saw you dancing once,” Chanyeol admits. “I mean not the stripper kind, the other kind of dancing,” he rushes to correct, and Baekhyun chuckles, “I thought you were really good. Your style sort of reminded me of sword dance.”

 

Baekhyun blinks owlishly. “How so?”

 

“Because your movements were so sharp and precise yet graceful,” Chanyeol responds, feeling self-conscious by the second. Baekhyun says nothing, just listens, his lack of a smile never so daunting. “I bet you’ve been told that plenty of times.”

 

“I’ve never been told that before,” Baekhyun retorts quietly. A slow smile unfurls on his face, beautiful as dawn. “Not in that way at least. You’re pretty good with words, Mr. Park.”

 

“Thanks,” Chanyeol says, bashful. “I just said what I had in mind…”

 

Baekhyun laughs heartily. The sunshine lights his eyes a warm brown. Chanyeol thinks this is how he looks best, smiling and laughing under the sun, though Baekhyun brooding at the rain is also beautiful in his own way. With the sunrays haloing his blond hair, Chanyeol’s foggy brain flops back to a time in college he had to spend hours examining Van Gogh’s series of still-life sunflowers for a paper.

 

 _Sunflowers_ , Chanyeol muses dumbly. _Baekhyun is a sunflower._

 

“Did you know there are exactly seven shots of soju in a bottle?” Baekhyun filters through Chanyeol’s ears muffled, then crystal clear at once. “Let’s see who finishes first.”

 

Chanyeol isn’t used to drinking so early in the afternoon. But he’s out here drinking with a student, which he’s never thought he would do, so finishing a bottle of soju before dusk isn’t the wildest scenario he can concoct anymore.

 

“Deal,” Chanyeol says, matching Baekhyun’s defiant smirk.

 

Baekhyun’s eyes are glittering, mischievous as his smile, as he watches Chanyeol down another drink, then follows suit. Chanyeol grunts at the burn, pleasant as it is, and Baekhyun gasps, loudly, eyes shut and merry.

 

“I feel like dancing now,” Baekhyun says, words slurred slightly. “But my balance’s probably not the best.”

 

Somehow Chanyeol didn’t think of Baekhyun as a one-shot wonder. Colors sits on Baekhyun’s cheeks, his gaze glassy and unfocused, lips a ruby red stretched over a joyous grin. If he’s not plastered now, he’s clearly halfway there. “You don’t wanna crack your skull.”

 

Baekhyun hides a giggle behind a hand. “True that,” he relents. Then, he scoots closer to Chanyeol, chasing away the evening chill starting to set in. “So, tell me more about sword dance.”

 

Later that evening Chanyeol stumbles into his apartment, tipsy and joyful, laughing to himself about something Baekhyun had said hours ago. He goes straight to bed, barely bothering with his shoes, and for sure not bothering with his pants, and hits the pillow with an ear-splitting grin thinking of Baekhyun.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

 

The weeks that follow pass in a weird daze. Chanyeol’s classes go on uneventfully, with some students rising high above the rest or floating right above the average to not fail. A difference is that when Chanyeol surveys the class, he makes a stop at the left side, second row each time. He always makes sure to do it when Baekhyun isn’t looking, but whenever he’s caught, Baekhyun smiles, easy and small, enough to quicken his pulse.

 

Baekhyun doesn’t let their friendship—or whatever this is—be known to the rest of the student body. That doesn’t stop him from coming by Chanyeol’s desk after class is over to chat until Chanyeol nearly forgets they should be heading to their respective classes.

 

The shift that Baekhyun brings to his life is subtle but immense. Ripples over the surface of a lake. It is this: texts throughout the day, inside jokes, furtive smiles across the classroom at various points during a lecture. Chanyeol and Baekhyun molding into each other’s tastes, odd habits, teasing remarks and traits with remarkable ease. It grows to the point where Chanyeol expects a text first thing in the morning and a text when he goes to bed at night.

 

Chanyeol can’t begin to understand how a person could have figured him out in such a short span of time. But it’s nice. It’s a different kind of friendship than he has with Sehun, but Chanyeol doesn’t want to delve into the nuances of what exactly makes it different.

 

 _Are you free tonight?_ Baekhyun types one day, _there’s another place I want to show you_

Chanyeol has a stack of papers to grade and a pile of homework to sort through. It’s a terrible idea. Irresponsible. Reckless. And somehow so, so appealing.

 

A rebellious thrill rushes through Chanyeol as he types a reply. It’s not unlike the excitement he used to get when he snuck out of his parent’s house after curfew in high school. _Yeah_ , _where do I meet you?_

_Give me your address I’ll pick you up ;-)_

 

It’s a quarter past eight when Chanyeol hears a car pull up outside his apartment complex. He’s spent a good portion of the last fifteen minutes fixing his hair in the mirror of his foyer; he doesn’t know where that burst of nervousness had come from, but he can’t stop fidgeting with his clothes when he finally steps outside.

 

Baekhyun is waiting for him inside a slick, black Audi which obviously doesn’t belong to him. Chanyeol frowns at the vehicle until he catches the grin on Baekhyun’s face.

 

“Did you steal this?”

 

Chanyeol’s only half-joking, but Baekhyun laughs, disrupting the nighttime quiet of the neighborhood. “I borrowed it,” he replies. Then, after catching a glimpse of Chanyeol’s expression, he adds, “I’ll give it back, don’t worry! My boss let me borrow it for tonight. C’mon, hop in!”

 

Chanyeol shoots Baekhyun another suspicious glance before he gets in the passenger seat. Inside it’s as luxurious as its exterior. Chanyeol’s reminded of the cars his Gangnam-born classmates drove.

 

Baekhyun chooses back roads to avoid the traffic of a Friday evening. They’ve been driving around deserted roads for ten minutes when Chanyeol asks, “Where are we going?”

 

“Anmingogae Hill.” Baekhyun spares Chanyeol a glance, before directing it at the road again. “It’s where couples go to make out and do the nasty.”

 

Chanyeol chuckles, waiting for the dancer to break into a laugh and tell him it’s a joke. Baekhyun’s dead serious when he returns the glance. It’s unbearably hot in the car all of a sudden. “Why are we going there? We’d be sticking out like a sore thumb.”

 

“Because it has the best view of the city,” Baekhyun says, grin askew. “And I promised I’d show you the best places around here.”

 

Chanyeol shifts in his seat until Baekhyun parks near a cliff overlooking the city. Another car is parked some distance away. Chanyeol can’t make out what’s happening inside, though perhaps it’s for the better. A light breeze ruffles his hair and sends a shiver down his body when they step outside. Chanyeol tugs his sleeves down over his hands as he walks closer to the fence separating them from the edge.

 

Baekhyun was right—the view is breathtaking. The town lights blink in the distance, the Masan-Changwon bridge shimmering over the ink-black water, lone fishing boats cruising idly like white ants on bitumen.

 

“Isn’t it pretty?” Baekhyun holds onto the railing, searching Chanyeol’s face. “I told you it was and I’m never wrong!”

 

Chanyeol nods slowly, expressionless, not giving anything away. Baekhyun shoves him playfully, and Chanyeol bursts into laughter.

 

“You just don’t want to admit I’m right,” Baekhyun declares. His grin is tinted with smugness, so radiant Chanyeol forgets for a second that it’s nighttime. “I used to come here a lot with Yixing.”

 

 _Yixing._ The name makes Chanyeol pause. Baekhyun names that guy a lot, to the point Chanyeol has started to suspect they’re more than friends. Whatever Baekhyun does is none of his business, of course, but his curiosity mounts each time the name is mentioned.

 

“Okay, you win,” Chanyeol concedes. “It’s perfect.” It’s with a sheepish smile that he takes his phone out to snap a few pictures, rolls his eyes at Baekhyun for laughing at him; he’s going to send the pictures to his sister Yoora, who’s been nagging him to give her updates on his life and threatening to pay him a visit if he doesn’t. Even if his loneliness isn’t as bad as it was when he arrived, Chanyeol does miss her terribly, but he doesn’t want her to worry about him when she already has her own problems.

 

To this day Yoora sticks to her role of big sister, despite Chanyeol reminding her time and time again that he’s old enough to get a mortgage.

 

“Wanna dance?” Baekhyun asks.

 

Chanyeol’s eyes widen. “Here?”

 

“Yeah, why not.” Baekhyun shrugs a shoulder. “There’s hardly anyone here.”

 

“I think I’ll pass,” Chanyeol says, smiling shyly. “I’ve never been that much of a dancer.” A gust of wind sweeps by them and it chills Chanyeol to the bone. “And it’s freaking freezing out here, so what if we just go back to the car.”

 

“It’s not even that cold,” Baekhyun counters. Despite this, he presses close to Chanyeol, his hand settling on his lower back under his jacket. Chanyeol should be used to Baekhyun’s touchy-feely attitude already, but the tripping of his heart is never any less baffling. A faint scent of rose shampoo clings to Chanyeol’s nostrils, just like Baekhyun’s warmth seeping through his clothes, and even the weight of his body against him makes Chanyeol feel lightheaded.

 

“Why do you even wanna dance out here?”

 

“Because I like dancing outside, remember? And besides,” Baekhyun cocks his head, contemplative, “I wanna see you loosening up some more. You look tense sometimes.”

 

“It was a busy week,” Chanyeol argues. “But I don’t feel like dancing in the middle of nowhere while people are doing the dirty some feet away.”

 

Right then, the lone car parked to the far left begins bouncing, the machine creaking in the dead of night. Baekhyun tips his head back to guffaw, his right arm bumping into Chanyeol’s side, who is too embarrassed to react in any way for a long moment until he bursts out laughing as well.

 

“Okay, you win,” Baekhyun relents, still laughing, “let’s go back inside before they see us here.”

 

“How do you know they haven’t seen us yet?” Chanyeol asks, half-joking. “Maybe that’s how they get their rocks off.”

 

That gets Baekhyun laughing again. “And how do you get _your_ rocks off?”

 

Chanyeol throws Baekhyun a foul glance that does nothing to wipe off his exasperating smirk. “Let’s just go back inside, you pervert.”

 

Back in the car, Baekhyun turns on the seat warmer after he settles in. Chanyeol wiggles in his seat contentedly, feeling the cold evaporating from his body.

 

“Better now?” Baekhyun asks. Then, he slides his jacket off and hands it to Chanyeol. “Here.” When Chanyeol hesitates to take it, he adds, “I rarely get cold anyway. Take it.”

 

“It’s not that I’m concerned about,” Chanyeol retorts. “I’m just wondering how I’m going to fit in that tiny thing. Are you sure I’m not going to rip it apart?”

 

“You shit!” Baekhyun slaps his arm, light but chiding, and Chanyeol crashes against the door on his side, cracking up a storm. “Here I am trying to be nice and this is how you repay me?!”

 

Through a last, wheezing laugh, Chanyeol slips a thank-you and takes the jacket from Baekhyun. He sticks his hands into the arm sockets to warm them up. Baekhyun’s cologne is permeated in the washed-out denim. Musky, tangy, fresh, underscored by a pinch of vanilla. So Baekhyun. “Why do I feel like I’m the younger one here.”

 

“You like being pampered,” Baekhyun observes, lips curved gently. “That’s interesting.”

 

“I don’t like being pampered,” Chanyeol rebukes. “I’m an adult, not a toddler, in case you haven’t noticed.”

 

“Really? I could’ve never guessed from how tall you are,” Baekhyun jokes. Chanyeol glares at him until he laughs along with Baekhyun. Another thing he’s learned is that Baekhyun’s laugh is impossible to resist and contagious to a fault. “So, what brought you to this sleepy town? Was it only work?”

 

“Work was the main reason,” Chanyeol mumbles, looking straight ahead. The skyline has dyed the night an orange ombre. A smile is still plastered on his face, strained by the change of subject. “But I wanted to get away, too. A change of pace and scenery, I guess.”

 

It’s only half of the truth. The fast-paced life of Seoul had been a reason, but he’d also gotten sick of his mother’s constant calls about girls she wanted to set him up in dates with and his father’s chilled disapproval of his _lifestyle—_ a sanitized term he used after Chanyeol came out to them—and his recent break-up with Junmyeon had been the clincher in his decision.

 

The transfer had come in at a perfect timing, so Chanyeol had said yes, and when next week rolled around, his bags were packed and ready to be loaded into his car’s trunk.

 

“Were you dating someone back in Seoul?”

 

Chanyeol turns to Baekhyun, brows furrowed. “What, is this a game of twenty questions now?”

 

“I just wanna know more about you,” Baekhyun explains. “Can a guy just try and get to know his favorite professor?”

 

Chanyeol rolls his eyes at the compliment. It doesn’t deter Baekhyun in the slightest. “I was seeing someone,” he replies simply. “We’d gone on a couple of dates, but it never progressed into anything serious because…” _I was stressed and overworked._ “So, when I told him I was transferring here he just wished me good luck.”

 

Junmyeon was a colleague in his old department, the same university where Chanyeol had done his grad. Chanyeol had been his TA while doing his research, and their friendship simply flowed from flirtatious glances during lunch to dates after long office hours. In the start, the affair was flourishing, and the couple was as lovey-dovey and infatuated as regular high-school sweethearts, until the constant stress from his work and thesis began to weigh on Chanyeol. Consequently, Junmyeon had been put aside, and eventually, he’d bored of waiting for a spot in Chanyeol’s life.

 

Junmyeon had apologized when he broke up with Chanyeol. As if Chanyeol’s consternation wasn’t enough, Junmyeon had taken a Marlboro pack out of his back pocket to deal with his stupefied silence. _I picked it back up last month_ , Junmyeon had explained, once he caught Chanyeol’s look. _You were too busy to notice._

 

Chanyeol was still smarting from the break-up when he’d packed his life into suitcases. In a way, he had not only run from his life, but from the guilt that he’d ruined the one good thing he had at the time.

 

“He sounds like a nice dude,” Baekhyun comments. “He reminds me of Yixing. We’ve been friends since high school and were roommates in college. We tried to date, but realized we were better as friends.” Baekhyun chuckles, fond and syrupy, eyes bright in reminiscence. “He’s the nicest person I know.”

 

The resolution of Yixing’s identity arouses even more uncertainty in Chanyeol, for the feelings that accompany it: there is relief, instant and misplaced, because Chanyeol shouldn’t have cared at all in the first place. _He’s your student,_ a voice reprimands, a lot like his mother’s _. You’re already crossing the line by going out with him._

 

Luckily for Chanyeol, Baekhyun’s distracted looking for a song on the radio, humming under his breath to fill the silence befallen the car. Still, Chanyeol tries to change the course of the conversation for his own good.

 

“It’s my turn to ask you something, since you’ve already asked me a question.” Chanyeol shifts in his seat towards Baekhyun. “Are you single?”

 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun replies. An impish grin tells Chanyeol otherwise. “I mean… Define single.”

 

“Well, it’s none of my business if you’re seeing someone,” Chanyeol backtracks. “I was just asking since you asked me first.”

 

Chanyeol fears he’s walked straight into a trap. Baekhyun squints with interest. “But you wanted to know, didn’t you?”

 

“No, I—”

 

Baekhyun cackles and slugs Chanyeol’s shoulder. “I’m joking, you dummy,” he assures. “But if you want to know, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. I don’t really do boyfriends, but I’ve done a good number of boys, if you get my drift.”

 

“How many?” Chanyeol can’t catch himself in time.

 

Baekhyun counts with his fingers. “There was Yunseok, Joohyuk, Seungsoo, that guy from the Audio Engineering department—”

 

“Okay, I get it,” Chanyeol interrupts. Baekhyun breaks out into a laugh. “You’ve been around.”

 

“Wait.” Baekhyun peers at Chanyeol puzzlingly. “That doesn’t bother you at all?”

 

“Why would it?” Chanyeol ricochets, nonchalant. Baekhyun’s grin is steadfast. “I couldn’t care less about your dating life, Baekhyun.”

 

“These are mostly guys I meet at clubs,” Baekhyun elaborates. “From college and whatnot. And sometimes the odd client at the Black Pearl, if he’s hot enough. Or looks rich enough.”

 

Had Chanyeol not blacked out drunk in front of Baekhyun that night, he would’ve been another name in that list. The next morning Baekhyun would’ve been done with him, like all those other men before, and likely never breathed in his direction again unless to ask a question in class. Just another notch in his bed.

 

Chanyeol can’t explain the pride that swells within him that he, unlike all those men, managed to score a friendship with Baekhyun. But whatever it was that made Baekhyun decide to keep Chanyeol around after Chanyeol turned him down is another mystery.

 

“I have another question.”

 

Baekhyun sweeps his bangs to a neat parting in the rearview mirror. “Shoot.”

 

“Why are you a stripper?” Chanyeol asks cautiously. “If you have money problems, which I completely understand, you could’ve gotten any other job…”

 

“Because I like it,” is Baekhyun’s reply, quick and easy. “I like dancing and I like how powerful I feel when I’m dancing in front of all those men and their reactions to me. I like being in command and that comes in a lot in this line of work. I’m in charge of my dances, of my technique, and of course, of whoever receives my time.”

 

At this, he leans in to wink pointedly at Chanyeol. Chanyeol purses his lips, dry-swallowing, because now all he can focus on is Baekhyun’s mouth when his tongue sweeps across his lips. It brings flashes of their softness, how demanding and skillful they can be, how perfectly well their mouths had slotted together…

 

Baekhyun chuckles, puppy eyes set on Chanyeol. “What’s on your mind, Mr. Park? Were you listening to what I said?”

 

That smile, bemused and knowing, gives Chanyeol the very childish urge to stick his tongue out. “I was listening,” he retorts. “You made a very good point, I think.”

 

“Were you by any chance,” Baekhyun asks, voice dipping a few octaves, “thinking of something else?”

 

Chanyeol knows he means the night they kissed in the VIP room. “ _No_ ,” he replies, vehement, steering his gaze back to the cliff.

 

“Yes, you were!” Baekhyun laughs, pulling back to his seat and out of Chanyeol’s personal space. It’s that laugh that scrunches his face and cuts his eyes into slits, and it shouldn’t be cute, given that Chanyeol’s the reason behind it, but it totally is. “But I’ll let you off the hook because you looked adorable fantasizing about me.”

 

“For the last time, I wasn’t—”

 

“It’s fine, we were just talking about how desirable I am to men, weren’t we?” Baekhyun makes a brushing motion with his hand. “And for your information,” he adds, smirk in place, “I do pay for my things myself. The money I earn at Black Pearl pays my rent and food. I just won’t say no to a friend offering me his car for a Friday night out.”

 

“Fair enough,” Chanyeol concedes, mortification waning. “It’s a really nice car.”

 

“Would you like to drive it?”

 

Mischief threads at the corners of Baekhyun’s smile. Chanyeol should be wary of that smile by now, it presages nothing but trouble. But his choices lately are a testament to his declining judgement.

 

Traffic is scarce in the highway Baekhyun chooses. They exchange seats in silence, no more than a passing glance and a smirk in Baekhyun’s case. Chanyeol is well aware of Baekhyun’s height, but it’s not until he is in the driver’s seat that he fully realizes how much shorter he is. And it’s through peals of laughter and Baekhyun’s loud complaints that he fixes the seat to accommodate his own height.

 

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol laughs, “It’s just—this is so cute—”

 

It sobers them up both enough to stare at each other in a weighty second. Baekhyun’s mouth is slack, having been caught unawares, but it soon twists into a spurt of a laugh. “Don’t think that I’ll let you get away with making fun of my hobbit height because you called me cute.”

 

Baekhyun tsks, folding his arms over his chest. Chanyeol bites another mouthful of laughter before he turns to the road. He steps on the pedal and the engine comes alive with a howl.

 

A sputter is all he hears from Baekhyun before he speeds down the highway, the wheels smooth on the road. Baekhyun rolls down the windows, and the wind nips at his face, sweeping his hair over his forehead. The speedometer ticks and ticks, the roar of the engine rumbling through his bones. Chanyeol becomes quickly hooked on this: the thrill gushing through his veins like liquid lighting, the sensation of freedom, pulsing and vibrant and enthralling, spurring Chanyeol to laugh out loud against the wind whipping his face. Chanyeol’s never felt as free, or as elated, impossibly high on a misguided sense of invincibility, knuckles white around the steering wheel and the road unfolding endlessly in front of him.

 

A hand sinks on his shoulder. “You should slow down a bit,” Baekhyun says into his ear. His breath is warm where it tickles his jaw. “I don’t wanna get a ticket, hotshot.”

 

“Sorry,” Chanyeol mumbles, through a titter. “I got kinda carried away.”

 

Through the lingering rush of adrenaline, Chanyeol eases off the gas and drives them to a side of the road. Without the noise of the engine and the wind, Chanyeol can hear his heart pounding in his chest and Baekhyun’s soft chuckles from the passenger seat.

 

“That was amazing,” Chanyeol laughs. “Have you ever tried this before?”

 

“No,” Baekhyun answers, as breathless and awed as Chanyeol, “but by the look on your face, I should give it a try sometime.”

 

“Let’s do it again!” Chanyeol exclaims, reaching for the gear stick. Baekhyun completely misses Chanyeol’s playful tone, because he squeals, darts out a hand to stop Chanyeol.

 

Chanyeol turns to Baekhyun—to tell him ‘got you!’ or make fun of him for falling for it—but he finds the dancer there, all too close within his personal space. The laughter fades. Chanyeol’s gaze flickers from Baekhyun to where their hands are joined in the center console and back again.

 

The quick ticking of his pulse returns as Baekhyun rivets on Chanyeol’s mouth, puckered around words that don’t come. Still hazy, Chanyeol watches Baekhyun’s lashes fluttering over his skin, dark against pale, his eyes sparkling under the blanket of dark, the look on that angel face teeming, inscrutable, anchoring Chanyeol like a lighthouse on a far-away shore.

 

And then, Baekhyun giggles, low and uneven. The tension dissolves into the air. “Uh, sorry,” Baekhyun mumbles, yanking back his hand. “Just don’t crash the car. I’m supposed to give it back in one piece.”          

 

“It’s okay,” Chanyeol assures him on autopilot. He’s peering at Baekhyun, who’s still so close. “I wouldn’t do that without a reasonable cause.”

 

“I didn’t know you were dangerous like that, Mr. Park.”

 

Baekhyun’s face is plain yet unreadable at once. Chanyeol can’t make out that guarded look, or the interest dancing right behind it, even with a clear head. As they stare at each other, Baekhyun flashes him a crooked smile, the earring in his right ear glinting in the relative darkness of the car. Baekhyun can be a complete mystery, a living Voynich puzzle, but there are two things that are clear as day: Baekhyun’s terribly handsome, and to Chanyeol’s terrible luck, he has never wanted to kiss someone this badly.

 

Chanyeol wets his lips, wipes off their craving. “Let’s grab something to eat.”

 

Baekhyun blinks owlishly, like breaking off from a spell. “I wanted us to go dancing… you know, at that club where we ran into each other?”

 

“Isn’t it like the only club for young people around here…” Chanyeol muses. Taking a look at Baekhyun, silently nettled, pouty mouth and knitted brows, Chanyeol heaves a sigh. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Baekhyun. People can see us and spread rumors… you know how it goes. I’d rather avoid all that.”

 

“Alright, Grumpypants,” Baekhyun relents. Frustration colors his voice, piled in the strain of his shoulders. Baekhyun dispels it in a single stream of air. Chanyeol wants to apologize and reiterate his stance all at once, then tack another apology, but Baekhyun beats him to the punch. “Don’t say you’re sorry or whatever. I get it. But you still owe me a dance and I don’t care about your two left feet. You’re dancing with me, you hear me?”

 

Going by Baekhyun’s tone, he doesn’t have much of a choice. Chanyeol chuckles lowly, already familiar with Baekhyun’s bossiness. Another aspect of him that Chanyeol finds both adorable and exasperating.

 

“Alright, boss,” Chanyeol quips, balking at the glower Baekhyun sends his way. “So, something to eat? My treat.”

 

Chanyeol rejoices as Baekhyun thaws at the offer. “Well, if it’s your treat,” Baekhyun says, feigning disinterest. He begins humming under his breath while fidgeting with the radio. Chanyeol allows a furtive smile and puts the car into drive. The first bars of a song fill the car, and Baekhyun exclaims, “Hey, I love this song!”

 

Chanyeol listens to the brisk drums and fuzzy chords of a guitar. “You like The Cure?”

 

“I love them!” Baekhyun sits back in his seat. “Don’t you?”

 

“I do,” Chanyeol says, eyes sliding to Baekhyun. “I just didn’t know you liked them.”

 

“Why, my taste is very diverse,” Baekhyun says, jokingly traversed. “I can shake my ass to ABBA _and_ Radiohead, I’ll have you know.”

 

The Cure and Radiohead. Two of Chanyeol’s favorite bands ever. He’s trying not to look overly blissful of this discovery, but he fails spectacularly hard when Baekhyun begins singing at the top of his lungs as the song glides into its chorus. Chanyeol laughs, delighted, then, shyly, joins Baekhyun, quiet at first then louder with Baekhyun’s encouraging grin until he’s screaming along with his companion.

 

“This is our song now!”

 

Baekhyun’s not expecting a response seemingly, because he’s launching into a full sing-along before Chanyeol can get a word out.

 

_You’re just like a dream. You’re just like a dream._

 

In that moment, Baekhyun crooning next to him, the excitement in his voice when he’d said _our song_ , the happiness of singing in a car with someone, let alone sing aloud at all, Chanyeol has never felt so full, overfilled, to the point he believes his joy will leave some kind of stretch marks—a permanent imprint on his heart.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

“Are you trying to set me up on a date?”

 

Chanyeol stirs his coffee dolefully. A mild headache has lodged in his temples. He had to stay up to catch up on all the homework and essays he had abandoned in favor of getting fried chicken with Baekhyun the previous two nights after his evening classes and now the crick in his back is a painful reminder of his negligence.

 

“Mmm,” Sehun hums, sipping his strawberry-flavored tea. “Yes? That’s what you need, dude.” A hand lands on Chanyeol’s knee. Chanyeol jolts, spilling a bit of his coffee. “You look like shit and I’m tired of looking at your ugly mug.”

 

“Thanks,” Chanyeol mutters dryly. “But I don’t need that.”

 

“You will,” Sehun corrects, slinging his arm over Chanyeol’s shoulders. “Once you see the person I’m setting you up with.”

 

With the timing of a Greek play, Kyungsoo enters the lounge then, carrying a tumbler and a thick folder in each hand. Sehun’s smirk is proud while awaiting Chanyeol’s reaction.

 

 “You’re setting me up with the hot professor?” Chanyeol asks, slack-jawed.

 

“Yes,” confirms Sehun, “and you better be there on time or Kyungsoo is going to kill me.”

 

“But, uh, there’s someone…” Sehun pins him with a stare. Chanyeol pauses, diverting his attention to the crumbs gathered on the front of his beige sweater. He isn’t sure what he’s trying to say. Just that Baekhyun came to his mind as soon as Sehun poised the offer, but he isn’t sure what it means or that he even wants to know.

 

“You’re seeing someone at the moment?” Sehun questions, shifting closer to Chanyeol. “Why you didn’t tell me? I’m your friend! Is it that guy from Seoul? Junmyeon?”

 

“Keep your voice down.” Chanyeol glances around. Sehun’s frown deepens. “Of course it’s not Junmyeon. We’re over.” Chanyeol breathes in before dropping the bomb. “Remember that guy from the Black Pearl…?”

 

“The stripper?” Sehun blinks several times. “Are you dating him now? I thought you weren’t going to get serious with him.”

 

“I’m not dating him,” Chanyeol declares. “We’re sort of… friends. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

 

In his attempt to explain his relationship with Baekhyun, his understanding of it seems to unravel, its edges jaded and indistinct, until Chanyeol’s left reeling, because he doesn’t know what, exactly, makes him hesitate.

“But you’re not dating.”

 

“No.”

 

Sehun tilts his head like he’s dealing with a lost case. “If you’re not dating, then what’s the problem? Don’t you wanna get over that dumb crush you had on him?”

 

“There’s nothing to _get over_ , really,” Chanyeol says. “He’s attractive but that’s as far as it goes.”

 

It’s a bare-faced lie. Sehun knows. Chanyeol knows. The stray dogs hanging around campus know. Chanyeol had already established he did have a bit of a thing for Baekhyun at the start of this whole situation. But _a thing_ is an understatement now that he got to know Baekhyun well. Before Chanyeol found out that Baekhyun is beautiful and intelligent and fun—a deadly combination overall—and could make Chanyeol laugh harder than he had in years.

 

Lately, Chanyeol’s also felt more excited for his classes. Getting up in the mornings it’s not as hard as it used to be and he’s even managed to arrive to class before his students. He’s found a renewed love in artworks, in the eras and styles he was so interested in once, and he’s been pouring all that enthusiasm into his lectures. And Baekhyun has certainly had a hand in this. All the places Baekhyun’s showed him, like the cherry trees in Jangboksan park and the starry night in Anmingogae Hill, have embedded themselves in Chanyeol with the essence of his favorite paintings.

 

There’s no denying Baekhyun’s brought art back into his life. The color of his hair, the brightness in his smile, the deftness of his dancing is art. Even that scratchy laugh of his, when he’s making fun of Chanyeol, has the rough, bright texture of a painted canvas.

 

But this is Chanyeol’s side of things. Because, truth be told, Baekhyun hasn’t shown signs of requiting his feelings. Chanyeol doesn’t know whether Baekhyun cares for him in the same way, whether he cares that Chanyeol is going through this internal crisis in the middle of the teacher’s lounge while surrounded by fossils and hideous artificial plants. And that might just be for the better, for Baekhyun is still his student and Chanyeol’s crush is totally inappropriate.

 

“Well, in any case, you know what they say.” Sehun gives his knee a little condescending pat. “You need to get under someone to get over someone else.”

 

Chanyeol looks over to the table near the windows, where Kyungsoo is drinking his coffee while flipping through some paperwork. Maybe Kyungsoo truly is what he needs.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

In the warm lighting of the Italian restaurant, Kyungsoo looks devastatingly handsome.

 

From the start, they strike up easy conversation over the appetizers. Chanyeol is relieved. The restaurant he’d picked isn’t the kind of place he frequents, a little too stiff and upmarket for his taste, but Kyungsoo fits right in. With his black cashmere sweater and slick parted hair and suave speech, he looks like a lead in those dramas Yoora loves to watch.

 

In the first hour, Chanyeol collects a repertoire of details: Kyungsoo went to Yongsan while Chanyeol went to SNU, Kyungsoo is a film buff while Chanyeol doesn’t mind what he watches, Kyungsoo loves cooking while Chanyeol’s specialty is plain rice and overcooked vegetables. These nuances are nothing next to the miraculous fact that Chanyeol can make Kyungsoo laugh. Kyungsoo's all crescent eyes and heart-shaped lips when he laughs, low and harmonious, gushing out of him in staccato sputters. The wine has given him an adorable flush that he tries to cover with a hand and makes his plump cheeks look like peaches.

 

It’s a complete break from the mysterious, elegant professor that slinks around the hallways of the arts college stealing hearts. Chanyeol is utterly charmed.

 

Chanyeol can’t comprehend how he ended up on a date with Kyungsoo in the first place. Kyungsoo seems so confident, and Chanyeol is… well, _Chanyeol_. During a lull in the conversation, he blurts out, “Why did you accept Sehun setting us up?” and flinches right after, because he wasn’t planning on posing the question out loud.

 

The question does not faze Kyungsoo. “Because you’re interesting and attractive,” he states, wide-eyed. “And I wanted to get to know you.”

 

The white wine sparkles in the glasses, bubbles rising gradually to the surface—much like the heat that creeps up Chanyeol’s neck to settle on his face.

 

“Thank you,” Chanyeol mumbles. “I think you’re handsome, too.”

 

Kyungsoo’s mouth twists on one side, and if that mouth wasn’t provocative enough before, it’s outright sinful now. Kyungsoo focuses on his plate again, where he’s segregated the food into small portions: a small mountain of beans and steamed carrots to one side and rice and meat on the other.

 

For some reason, Chanyeol thinks about Baekhyun’s messy eating habits, food stuck on his chin and fingers shiny with grease, speaking uncaringly with a full mouth and no finesse. But Chanyeol shouldn’t be thinking about Baekhyun during his date, so he pushes any thoughts of the dancer out his mind.

 

Dinner finished, chairs scrape back over the wooden floorboards. Chanyeol’s about to tell Kyungsoo something—offer a second date maybe—when his phone rings in his pocket. Chanyeol has half a mind to ignore it, half a mind to turn it off altogether, but when he peeks at the screen, Baekhyun’s name makes his current train of thought screech to a halt.

 

Several things cross Chanyeol’s head during that pause. Baekhyun doesn’t like to call, preferring to flood Chanyeol’s inbox with a dozen messages instead of saving himself the time on a call. It’s also close to eleven, around the time Baekhyun gets busy at the strip club—and Chanyeol was aware he was working that night.

 

Chanyeol gestures in the direction of the bathrooms, phone lifted to his ear, barely waiting for Kyungsoo’s nod before he’s darting out of the seating area. It’s only when he’s pacing in the hallway between bathroom sections that he swipes his thumb over the green button.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, Mr. Park,” Baekhyun responds, in a low, far-off tone. “Can you, uh, pick me up from work?”

 

Chanyeol gets a near-instant jab of concern. “Why? Is something wrong?”

 

“It’s kind of a long story and I can’t explain right now,” Baekhyun says. The urgency in his voice is palpable. Chanyeol heads to the doors on automatic. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“I’m not harmed.” Baekhyun draws in a breath. “Can you come quickly? I’m outside the club and I don’t want to stay here a second longer. I’ll tell you all about it when you get here.” The breath is released, a frantic rush of static against Chanyeol’s ear. “Please?”

 

It’s the plead in Baekhyun’s voice that breaks him. “I’ll be right there.”

 

When Chanyeol pulls up outside the strip club, Baekhyun is waiting on the curb, his hood pulled over his head and his hands shoved into his pockets, a shadow out of reach of the purple-pink neon deluge of the Black Pearl. As soon as he spots Chanyeol’s car, Baekhyun doesn’t waste a second getting in the passenger seat and Chanyeol unclicks his belt to turn towards the dancer.

 

In a quiet voice, Baekhyun says, “You came,” surprise and relief laced into his tone. Chanyeol palms Baekhyun’s cheeks, ignoring the wide-eyed look he gets in return as he tilts Baekhyun’s chin to inspect his face.

 

“What happened?” Chanyeol inquires. “Did you get into a fight?”

 

“Sort of,” Baekhyun replies crisply, moving out of Chanyeol’s grip. “A client got drunk and started shouting things at me while I was doing my show. There was a new guy at the bar tonight so instead of kicking him out they let him book a private dance with me and he got a little handsy.”

 

“Oh my god,” Chanyeol exhales. Acid churns in his stomach. “Are you okay? Did he do something to you?”

 

“No.” Baekhyun shakes his head at the dashboard. “But he did get violent when they were dragging him out, shouting stuff.” Baekhyun’s chin touches his chest. Chanyeol has the strange urge to gather him in his arms. “Can you just drive, please?”

 

“Okay.” Chanyeol turns on the engine. “Where do you live?”

 

“Can I sleep at your place tonight?” Baekhyun fiddles with the seatbelt. “I don’t wanna be alone right now.”

 

Chanyeol’s first instinct is that he should consider this further. But his second instinct is that Baekhyun needs company—needs Chanyeol’s company—and in this way he could return the favor after Baekhyun took _him_ home, a drunk stranger, and let him sleep on his couch. “Sure,” Chanyeol murmurs. “Whatever you want.”

 

The smile he earns is small but precious. “Thanks, Mr. Park.”

 

Baekhyun looks out of place in his apartment, a mirage taken shape in his living room that Chanyeol keeps expecting to vanish any moment. Baekhyun glances around curiously, his fingers clenched around his bag straps, picture perfect of a tiny animal stranded in an unfamiliar habitat. Chanyeol chuckles to himself while preparing tea, then leads Baekhyun to his bedroom with the steaming cup. Baekhyun sits on the edge of the bed, taking the cup from Chanyeol with a quiet ‘thanks’ and closing his eyes when he takes a sip.

 

“I’ll see if I have something you can wear to sleep,” Chanyeol tells him, pacing to his drawer. “I only have my old shirts, and you’ll be drowning in those…”

 

“I’ll wear them anyway. It’s fine.”

 

Chanyeol laughs through his teeth when he hands Baekhyun a grey shirt he used to wear to the gym. Baekhyun doesn’t ask Chanyeol to leave before he begins to undress, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Chanyeol spins on his heels with a not-so-manly squeak, right when Baekhyun unclicks his belt and unzips his pants unceremoniously.

 

“Why are you so embarrassed to see me naked now?” Baekhyun taunts. “You’ve seen me dancing around in booty shorts, and I remember you being very eager to take me back to my place when we met.”

 

“This is different,” Chanyeol protests. Blood pools in his face, thick and hot, at the sound of Baekhyun’s belt thudding against the floor. “You’re not at the strip club and we’re alone in my home.”

 

Baekhyun laughs again, a pinch scornful. “Okay, you were right. Your shirt does look like a circus tent on me.”

 

Chanyeol turns back around and bursts into a laugh. The shirt reaches Baekhyun’s knees, the neck hanging around his collarbones. It looks like a dress on him. “Told you so!”

 

“Well, at least it’s comfy.” Baekhyun throws the covers back and slips under them. “And your bed is warm.”

 

“I’ll leave you to sleep then.”

 

Chanyeol takes the cold cup of tea and starts inching towards the open doorway. Baekhyun has wrapped the covers around himself like a burrito, his puppy eyes peeking endearingly over the bedspread. The sight does strange things to Chanyeol’s heart.

 

“Stay with me for a little while,” Baekhyun requests, gentle, verging on coy. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

 

The sound of his voice is thin, vulnerable, so unlike Baekhyun, and it plucks a chord deep within Chanyeol. Without hesitation, Chanyeol nods, rounds the bed and places the cup back on the nightstand. Baekhyun scoots back to make space for him, folding his arm under his head to watch as Chanyeol lies carefully beside him.

 

It’s Baekhyun who speaks first. “What were you doing when I called you? I could hear people talking in the background.”

 

Chanyeol unleashes a stream of air through his nose. A twinge of _something_ —regret, perhaps—pricks his side at the memory of Kyungsoo’s face, coated in disappointment, when Chanyeol informed him he had to rush home because of an emergency.

 

“I was out with a colleague,” Chanyeol replies. Baekhyun’s eyes widen. Chanyeol adds in a rush, “But the dinner was over when you called. So don’t worry, you didn’t interrupt anything.”

                                                                   

“Okay, if you say so,” Baekhyun says, voice soft. “Sorry anyway.”

 

Baekhyun slips a hand out of the covers to take Chanyeol’s palm in the no-man’s-land between their bodies. In silence, he plays with Chanyeol’s fingers, bending and unbending, and Chanyeol gnaws on his lip, unable to do more than observe.

 

Baekhyun wrapped in his covers like a burrito only serves to rise within Chanyeol the same kind of protectiveness that overtook him back at the car. “Does this happen often? Clients getting rough?”

 

“Not usually,” Baekhyun answers, plainly. “But it’s happened a couple of times. It never escalates, though. Minseok knows better than to let that happen.”

 

There is a distant quality to his tone, as if those were secondhand experiences instead of lived-in ones. It puts Chanyeol on edge. “Why don’t you quit and do something that isn’t dangerous?” Chanyeol ventures. “Like dancing professionally or something… or even doing a boring job like a barista.”

 

“Told you I like being a stripper,” Baekhyun retorts, resolved. Strong-headed Baekhyun is back. “I could spill scalding coffee on me, so it’s just as dangerous.” His fingers skim over Chanyeol’s palm. “And besides,” his voice lowers, “dancing is who I am. I can dance at school, but it’s a different kind of energy from dancing on that stage. Working at Starbucks won’t pay the same bucks dancing in shorts does. I just want to save enough money to open my own academy someday.”

 

Chanyeol smiles at the image of Baekhyun in a sunlit studio surrounded by kids and music. Baekhyun would be a stern but gentle teacher, and Chanyeol knows by experience that his charms would capture the students’ hearts on the spot.

 

“I can imagine you doing that,” Chanyeol comments. “Teaching little kids to dance… You’d be a great teacher.”

 

Baekhyun flashes his first real smile this evening. “Thank you, Mr. Park. I have a long way to go though because I’m still learning.”

 

“What about your parents?” The question is out before Chanyeol can run it through. Baekhyun’s smile slips and he lets go of Chanyeol’s hand, retreating under the sheets. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”

 

“My folks don’t like me studying dance,” Baekhyun says, wearily. “We’re in kind of a… shaky territory. They don’t like having Billy Elliot for a son, they wanted a businessman like my brother. Though when I saw them last Christmas we didn’t scream at each other until the very last day, so I take that as progress.”

 

Baekhyun’s chuckle is mirthless. It brings back the urge to embrace him with a vengeance. But Chanyeol suspects it would earn him a good kick if he tried; Baekhyun doesn’t seem the type to like being cosseted when he isn’t asking. In that aspect, he’s more kitten than puppy.

 

Chanyeol wonders if Baekhyun feels lonely sometimes. If his loneliness can be measured in a teaspoon or a teacup. Chanyeol’s loneliness sometimes feels unmeasurable, immense and vast as the ocean. But since Baekhyun waltzed into his life he’s managed to fit that ocean into his hands and spill it over the ground like rain.

 

“I’ve never watched Billy Elliot,” Chanyeol says, in a stupid effort to lighten the mood. In high school his favorite film was _Four Weddings and a Funeral_ , a teenage Chanyeol charmed by Hugh Grant’s glasses and attractively untamed hair.

 

Baekhyun blinks twice, then spurts out a laugh.

 

“You’re such a dummy,” Baekhyun says, without malice. “How do I let you hang out with me without having watched the movie that changed my life and made me who I am?” Baekhyun shakes his head in disapproval.

 

“You can’t ditch me because I’m your favorite professor,” Chanyeol rebuts. Then, quietly, he tacks down, “And I’m sorry about your parents. I’m sure they’ll come around when they see how talented you are.”

 

A vague sound is all he gets in reply. That guarded look from the late-night drive is back when he regards Chanyeol.

 

“Anyways, what about you?” Baekhyun prompts, poking Chanyeol’s right cheek. “It’s not fair I told you my sob story and you haven’t given me anything. It’s your turn to open up and be soppy or I’ll be upset that this isn’t even.”

 

Chanyeol deflates with a stream of breath. “I folded a hundred paper cranes for my girlfriend in high school and when I was nearly done she broke up with me.”

 

Baekhyun’s laugh is full and booming. “Oh my god, how could she break up with you when you were so sweet?”

 

“Well,” Chanyeol hesitates before he continues, “my last boyfriend broke up with me because I was too preoccupied with my thesis and work.” Baekhyun’s jaw slackens. Chanyeol smiles at how quickly his laughter evaporated. “My mother only calls me to set me up in dates with her friends’ daughters. She thinks being gay is a phase, even though I’ve told her repeatedly that I’m most definitely into dicks. I moved here to run away from everything basically.”

 

Chanyeol rushes everything out in a single breath, quick as peeling off a band-aid. The effect is just as cathartic: his chest feels immediately lighter afterwards, like rocks have dissolved in his lungs.

 

Baekhyun stares candidly at him. The lines on his forehead melt into his pale skin when he smiles, pure and empathetic, then gives Chanyeol’s unruly hair two clunky pats that make Chanyeol smile in turn.

 

“That sounds like a good reason to move to the middle of nowhere,” Baekhyun remarks. “Don’t worry, Mr. Park, she’ll come around. And that guy doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

 

Chanyeol’s heart springs to his throat. It may have been his imagination, but the tune in Baekhyun’s words seemed to echo with fondness.

 

Outwards, Chanyeol utters a simple, “Thanks.”

 

Suddenly, Baekhyun leans forward and plants a kiss on his lips. It lasts a couple of seconds. Baekhyun is there, smooth and warm and sweet from the tea he’d been drinking, and in the next blink, he’s gone. Chanyeol has a fleeting impulse to chase his mouth, press for more, abandon his conviction for good—but he remains still, listening to the triple drum of his heart and the teetering breath that leaves him.

 

Two lithe fingers are poised against his lips.

 

“I can hear the gears turning in your head,” Baekhyun whispers. “Don’t overthink it. I said I would make it up to you, didn’t I? And what’s a better reward than a kiss from me.”

 

Baekhyun tackles the last bit with a wink. Chanyeol scoffs, cheeks aflame. A sunset-pink tints the crest of Baekhyun’s cheeks, and Chanyeol wonders, with wild hope, if it’s an after-effect of the kiss.

 

Just to be obtuse, Chanyeol says, “I don’t count that as an acceptable reward.”

 

“You owe me a dance,” Baekhyun bounces back. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.”

 

“Alright then I’ll accept your reward.” Baekhyun laughs quietly, shaking the bed. Chanyeol deems it a good time to call it a night, before something else can happen. “I should sleep now. I have class first thing in the morning. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

 

“Goodnight,” Baekhyun says, snuggling in the sheets. “And thanks.”

 

Chanyeol only indulges a smile, giddy and thrilled, when he’s stepped out of the room.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

(In the morning, Baekhyun sneaks out before Chanyeol wakes up. When he pads to the kitchen, he discovers that the stripper left him a fresh brew of coffee, despite his professed hatred of the beverage, and a delectable stack of toast on a plate.

 

There’s also his shirt neatly folded on the table. Chanyeol finds a note over the garment with Baekhyun’s distinctive handwriting and a cartoonish drawing of Chanyeol in his usual sweaters and dress pants attire. But what surprises him most are the hearts drawn all over his caricature.

 

_enjoy ur breakfast!!! see u in class mr. park <3_

That day he walks to his first class of the day with a dopey smile on his face and an obvious skip in his step. When someone mentions his good mood, Chanyeol tells them it’s because of the lovely weather _._ )

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

Chanyeol runs into Baekhyun in the quad on a Wednesday afternoon.

 

Chanyeol’s leaving campus to grab a coffee before heading home when he spots Baekhyun walking in his direction, a shock of platinum-blond curls in his left hand and the leash of his corgi in his right hand, the dog bounding along happily by his feet. Baekhyun’s in his dance attire, black leggings and a loose white tee with a logo of the couple from _Dirty Dancing_. Chanyeol wonders if Baekhyun’s entire wardrobe consists of shirts with logos of his favorite groups, movies or comic books in various sizes, like the Nirvana shirt he wore to class on Monday, that barely covered his bellybutton.

 

Baekhyun beams the moment he spots Chanyeol. Chanyeol’s heart skips and bounces, playing its own game of hopscotch.

 

“Hey, Mr. Park,” Baekhyun greets, too honied. “What’s with the Harry Potter glasses?”

 

Chanyeol had overslept that morning and hadn’t had time to put in his contacts. So he’d resorted to wearing his wired glasses, the ones that shrink his eyes, and Yoora claims they give him the looks of the star in a legal drama.

 

“I forgot to put in my contacts this morning.” Chanyeol pushes the glasses up his nose with an index finger. “You like them?”

 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun answers, gifting him an approving grin. The lurch in Chanyeol’s stomach is unexpected. “They suit you. You should wear them more often.”

 

It’s a cool afternoon, a mild breeze escorting the sinking sun. The weather isn’t balmy enough to justify the blush crawling from beneath his collar.

 

“Thanks,” Chanyeol tosses, then kneels in front of Mongryong to scratch behind his ear. The dog yaps happily, shifting so he can lick Chanyeol. “What is he doing here? Are you taking him to the vet?”

 

“No, I’m waiting for my dad to come pick him up,” Baekhyun explains. “I sort of kidnapped him a month ago… I wasn’t allowed to take him, but I missed his bubble butt until he started shedding all over the place.”

 

“That’s what dogs do in the summer,” Chanyeol posits, stroking Mongryong’s back. It’s a bad move, he quickly realizes. Stray hairs stick to his palm with a magnetic force, thick enough to form a tiny furball. “Ugh. Gross.”

 

“Told you.” Baekhyun laughs a deep, smug laugh. “He sheds enough to make him and another dog couple sweaters.”

 

Chanyeol spares Baekhyun a dirty side-glance. Mongryong doesn’t approve of Chanyeol directing his attention elsewhere, and he nuzzles Chanyeol’s arm until he is back to scratching his head. “But he’s cute anyway, isn’t he?”

 

“I should’ve known you were the type to baby-talk your pets,” Baekhyun teases. “Smart, handsome, and pet-friendly. I’m so charmed I could even overlook that coffee stain on your vest.”

 

Chanyeol gets to his feet like a diver about to jump off. “Hey, a guy bumped into me at the cafeteria.”

 

Truth is Chanyeol had spilled it over himself at lunch that day, but he says nothing of this lest he embarrass himself further.

 

Baekhyun’s grin becomes spliced. “It’s fine, it goes well with that nerdy look you’ve got going on. Kinda like a hot IT guy. Or a hot librarian.”

 

“Are you done taking the piss at me?” Chanyeol tries to sound annoyed. But really, he’s worried his heart is going to trip out of him with all the somersaults it’s doing. “What’s the wig for?” Chanyeol points diffidently to the wiry mesh of curls. “Did you lose a bet or something?”

 

“No, it’s for a performance at Black Pearl,” Baekhyun replies. “A drag queen pulled out of an upcoming number so they asked me to replace her.”

 

“A drag queen?” Chanyeol blinks, making sense of the sentence. The idea of Baekhyun in drag has short-circuited his brain. “That’s—that’s interesting.”

 

 “I’ll let you know when it is so you can come watch,” Baekhyun offers, enthusiastic. “I may even buy you a drink. One of those daiquiris you really like.”

 

Baekhyun’s wink has the power of a whip on Chanyeol. Coupled with that disarming grin, it knocks the breath out of him. Chanyeol should be desensitized to Baekhyun’s shameless flirting by now, but the boy has a way of storming through Chanyeol’s meager defenses without much effort.

 

“I’ll think about it,” Chanyeol placates. “I need to check if my schedule is clear.”

 

Another scratchy laugh. “What about this weekend? I want to thank you for letting me stay over the other night.”

 

A scandalized Chanyeol scans his surroundings to see if anyone’s overheard. Baekhyun laughs again at his expression.

 

“You don’t have to thank me again,” Chanyeol retorts, sotto voce. “You already made me breakfast.”

 

“Still.” Baekhyun shrugs. One side of his shirt shows a tantalizing bit of his right clavicle. “I told you I’d repay you and what better way than inviting you over to my place for some Netflix and chill? Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Baekhyun rushes to reassure when Chanyeol’s smile falls, “we’ll just be chilling. Pizza and drinks. What d’ya say?”

 

Baekhyun has given up all teasing. Chanyeol finds earnestness in his voice and the slope of his brows. Inoffensive. Nothing to hide. Even so, Chanyeol isn’t quite out of his mind to accept this kind of offer in the middle of the day, where students—his students—mill about, close and privy to this little secret of his.

 

“If you put it like that...” Chanyeol wets his lips. “Let me think about it.”

 

The corners of Baekhyun’s brows drop, and as if his expectations had sunk in tandem, the light in his face seems to deem. Then, it resurfaces, like a bleep in his sunny countenance, but this smile is a forgery of his previous one.

 

“Okay,” Baekhyun says, “I’ll be waiting.”

 

Chanyeol makes up his mind when he’s in line to order coffee. A text message pops up on his screen, interrupting his game of Candy Crush. It’s from Kyungsoo. Chanyeol doesn’t know what to make of the disappointment souring the back of his mouth like a shot of espresso.

 

 _Are you free this weekend?_ the message reads. Chanyeol can picture the professor in his thick-rimmed glasses, tanned forearms naked by the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down, elbows set on his desk to type with both thumbs on his phone.

 

It’s an attractive image, which also carries a distinctive stab of guilt. Because Chanyeol doesn’t feel like going out with this heartthrob of a man. All he can think of right now, with the prospect of a night with Kyungsoo, is that he’d really like to spend it with Baekhyun.

 

Baekhyun, all naked earnestness, whose smile had wavered when Chanyeol hesitated.

 

 _Sorry, hyung_ , Chanyeol types into the screen, _I’ve already got plans :/_

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

Chanyeol knocks on Baekhyun’s door at a quarter to nine on Friday evening.

 

A box of pizza is on the coffee table, the smell of cheese drifting over. Baekhyun refuses Chanyeol’s offer to pay for it. “I can pay for food myself,” Baekhyun asserts, vehement enough to persuade Chanyeol not to push.

 

“At least I brought beer.” Chanyeol lifts the six pack. “Thought you might appreciate my efforts.”

 

“Beer?” Baekhyun inclines his head to the side with an indulgent grin. “I’m not a big fan of beer to be honest. But I’ll drink it if my favorite cutie pie bought it.”

 

Chanyeol slips off his shoes at the foyer. They look oddly fitting next to Baekhyun’s beat-up sneakers. “Is my present not enough for you?”

 

“I think you need to try harder, Mr. Park,” Baekhyun quips, and with a simper, he spins towards the kitchen.

 

Chanyeol soaks in the flirtation in the air. That smile still perched on Baekhyun’s lips as he slinks around his kitchen. Lets it all sit within that tremor in his sternum.

 

Baekhyun’s apartment looks exactly like Chanyeol remembers it from the night he stayed over, neat and homey and colorful. The lime-yellow couch—which Baekhyun told him once he got at a yard sale—the mismatched pillows, the paintings and pictures on the beige walls. Candles of various sizes and colors sit on the foyer table, also a yard-sale find, almost as many potted plants on surfaces and corners.

 

Baekhyun’s touch is all over the place. Chanyeol loves it.

 

“What are you smiling about over there?”

 

Baekhyun places empty plates and glasses on the coffee table. Chanyeol didn’t realize he’d been smiling until the giddy smile on his face is frozen in place and then dropped altogether.

 

“Nothing.” Chanyeol grabs the plate and sits on the couch. “Thanks for the food.”

 

“So, how’s work?” Baekhyun plops down on the couch next to him with his own plate. He sits with his legs open, occupying so much space that his knee pushes against Chanyeol’s thigh. Chanyeol has to close his legs to accommodate him. “You don’t look so dead on your feet today.”

 

Chanyeol reclines on the couch. “Thanks? I guess? It’s been easier catching up with work now that the semester is almost over and I can dismiss classes earlier and go home to do work instead of working at my office.”

 

“You mean the broom closet?” Baekhyun corrects with a smirk. “It has its charm for its size.”

 

Chanyeol pinches Baekhyun’s thigh for the jibe. Baekhyun chokes on the food he was chewing and sprays it all over in a coughing fit.

 

“You’re disgusting,” Chanyeol retorts, both repulsed and amused. Baekhyun leans over and steals a slice of pepperoni, popping it into his mouth with an air of satisfaction. “And now you’re also stealing my food.”

 

Baekhyun shrugs with affectation. “It’s one of my charms.” Chanyeol laughs, shaking his head. It’s nearly impossible to be mad at Baekhyun. Chanyeol has tried before—god knows Baekhyun is a constant test to his patience—but he’s unbearably endearing, annoyingly charming, Chanyeol finds it hard to believe he could ever be anything other than utterly whipped for him.

 

A string of cheese is stuck to Baekhyun’s chin. Chanyeol wants to wipe it off, but he’s sure Baekhyun would tease him in some way, and Chanyeol isn’t about to give Baekhyun another reason to make fun of him willingly.

 

Chanyeol eyes the round, perfect chin the cheese is plastered on, the smooth, beautiful curve of cheek leading to it, his strawberry lips shiny with grease… If there existed an artwork that matched Baekhyun in beauty, surely the world would never stop staring at it.

 

“What are you staring at?” Baekhyun blinks two curious eyes. “Is there something on my face?”

 

“You have cheese here.” Chanyeol taps his finger over his chin. Baekhyun rubs the opposite side. “No, no, no. _Here_.”

 

Baekhyun purses his lips in frustration, then slouches in the couch with a smirk that reeks of petulance, and as if on instinct, Chanyeol knows he’s in trouble. It would be a lie if Chanyeol said Baekhyun doesn’t look hot like this, if the sharp curve of his mouth didn’t entice a secret part of him, but it’s also, at the same time, incredibly infuriating, his desire and irritation mixing in a confusing cocktail in his gut.

 

“Come and wipe it off,” Baekhyun taunts. “I can’t find the spot.”

 

Chanyeol sighs wearily, as though the mere thought drains him of all strength. And really, it almost does. He grabs a napkin from the coffee table and tosses it at Baekhyun. “Wipe it yourself,” Chanyeol says, chuckling when the napkin lands on Baekhyun’s nose. Baekhyun blinks, perplexed, before breaking into a chortle, squinting dark eyes at Chanyeol.

 

“Let’s just watch the goddamn movie.”

 

They decide on a movie after much arguing on plot and acting merits and substance versus comic relief. (Chanyeol begins to suspect, halfway through his rant about why his choice is the right one, that Baekhyun was just trying to rile him up.) Once he’s had enough, Baekhyun chirps, “My house, my rules!” and pulls up _Billy Elliot_ on Netflix.

 

On the tv screen, a skinny boy jumps on his bed to the soft tune of _Cosmic Dancer_. On the couch, Baekhyun leans against Chanyeol, cheek pressed to his bicep, and Chanyeol’s heart bounces at the same speed, bobbing in slow motion. A strand of Baekhyun’s hair caresses Chanyeol’s jaw every time Baekhyun shifts, the scent of his shampoo—a flowery scent, rose or lavender—lulling him into a tender stupor and making him miss some details in the scenes.

 

By the time the credits are rolling on the screen, Chanyeol is left with nothing but the burn that has settled in his chest. It’s not acid reflux, he’s sure of that. Baekhyun has moved away to yawn and stretch, and the loss of his touch pricks Chanyeol’s skin, like pulling back a blanket in a cold room.

 

Oblivious to all of this, Baekhyun peers at him, grinning, soft and sleepy, hair tousled on the side of his head that had rested on Chanyeol’s arm. He’s so, so cute. The burn in the center of Chanyeol’s chest gives way to the now-familiar tickle of moth’s wings on his ribs and Chanyeol curls his fingers into fists over his thighs.

 

An odd blend of dread and bewilderment swirls inside Chanyeol, because he thought he had this thing under control. But in the months since he’d met Baekhyun, the crush had evolved from a fluffy, small creature to a terrifying, fire-spitting monster that Chanyeol didn’t know how to confront anymore. There was no denying its magnitude at this point, or how much Chanyeol had screwed up with this one. It was very much worthy of one of Sehun’s staple eye-rolls and snooty _I told you so’_ s.

 

 _It was just a dumb crush_ , Chanyeol thinks morosely _. That was all it was going to be._

 

“Did you like the movie?”

 

“I fell asleep,” Chanyeol lies, cracking on the last word. “I’ll have to watch it again someday.”

 

Baekhyun’s bubblegum lips pucker into a pout. “I bring you to my house to hang out with you and you fall asleep on me? I’m offended, Mr. Park.”

 

There’s something right under Baekhyun’s teasing facade, swimming beneath the playful tone. It’s in the two lines between his brows, branded over a searching look—hesitance, perhaps, and self-doubt, maybe—and Chanyeol wants to reassure, because his heart squeezes at the thought that Baekhyun might mistake his stupidity for boredom in his company.

“I always have fun with you,” Chanyeol reassures, smile tight. Tentatively, he reaches out and ruffles Baekhyun’s hair. Baekhyun’s eyes close on instinct, nose crinkling, and it’s so precious, Chanyeol’s heart squeezes again. “Even though you’re a little weird and annoying.”

 

“You like me anyway.” Baekhyun’s grin is back, widening, his eyes seeking Chanyeol’s. “Don’t you?”

 

The words lack the inflection of a proper question, and Chanyeol laughs, because it’s so Baekhyun to swing so easily between self-doubt and confidence like this.

 

Chanyeol slides his fingers through his own hair to comb the strands down, coyness etched in his smile when he peers at Baekhyun. “Maybe.”

 

Chanyeol’s tone is more tender than he’d intended. Baekhyun’s grin mellows, his gaze a soft, warm brown. A sunflower tilted towards the sun. Chanyeol would give anything to capture that look and keep it in his pocket forever.

 

“Yes, you do.”

 

The air is heavy around them in the following pause. Baekhyun’s stare is unwavering, brimming with unsaid things. But Chanyeol doesn’t have time to mull on the weight of it, because in the next second Baekhyun is standing and pulling at his arm to lift him off the couch, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

 

“Let’s dance! C’mon!”

 

Baekhyun’s surprisingly strong for his pocket size. In no time, he’s dragged a begrudging Chanyeol to his feet and to the side of the couch, Chanyeol trying not to look hassled while he’s maneuvered against his will. “Now? In your living room?”

 

“Yeah, why not?!” Baekhyun’s beam is wicked and gleeful and beautiful. Chanyeol supposes lesser men have fallen victim to that smile before. “And you’ve owed me a dance since Anmingogae Hill!”

 

“Alright,” Chanyeol concedes, wearily. Baekhyun scrolls through his phone until he makes a hitch-pitched sound of triumph. From the speaker next to the tv comes the smooth baritone of Nat King Cole flowing through a Spanish song that Chanyeol recognizes from a Chinese movie.

 

Baekhyun takes his right hand to lift it and grabs the other to place it over his hip. Chanyeol sputters, “What are we dancing?”

 

“Ballroom dancing,” Baekhyun replies, blasé. “You have to follow my lead.”

 

Clumsily, Baekhyun guides Chanyeol through the basics: a step to the left, step to the right, forward and back. Chanyeol manages to step on Baekhyun once, and through his profuse apologies, Baekhyun laughs, careless, though it does not stop Chanyeol’s blush from spreading over his face.

 

After a couple of minutes, Chanyeol gets the gist of it, and the steps come easily while he’s watching his feet. Left, right. Forward. Back. It’s within that rush of confidence that Chanyeol looks up at Baekhyun, meets that proud little smile, and his concentration goes off-kilter once again.

 

He barely avoids stomping on Baekhyun’s feet again, exclaiming a panicky, “I’m sorry!” Baekhyun chuckles, shaking his head in silent reassurance.

 

“You’re doing good,” he tells Chanyeol. “It’s not so hard, is it?”

 

Chanyeol releases a nervous laugh. “I told you I had two left feet, so any injuries my feet may cause are self-inflicted if you think about it.”

 

In a sudden fright, Chanyeol realizes his hands are clammy in Baekhyun’s hold. If only there was a way he could wipe them on his pants without alerting Baekhyun of the mess he can make of Chanyeol with the simplest of acts and inadvertently give him ammo for more teasing.

 

“You’re so scared of touching me,” Baekhyun notes, through a quiet laugh. “You were the same scaredy-cat back at the club—like you were going to explode if you put your hands on me. It’s kind of amusing to see.”

 

“What should I be scared of?” Chanyeol retorts. “Your puppy teeth? Your terrible alcohol tolerance?”

 

“Hey, at least I don’t have two left feet,” Baekhyun ricochets back. Chanyeol closes his eyes in a silent guffaw. “But you weren’t so scared in the VIP room, were you,” Baekhyun jibes in a suggestive pitch.

 

Chanyeol groans, tipping his chin down in embarrassment. It’s been a tough night for Chanyeol already. “I was drunk,” Chanyeol whines. Baekhyun chuckles again. “And that was before I knew you were my student.”

 

“And if I hadn’t been?”

 

Chanyeol frowns in confusion. “If you hadn’t been what?”

 

“Your student.” Baekhyun wets his lips. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been your student.”

 

Chanyeol’s heartbeat springs to a race, lightning-fast.

 

While Nat King Cole croons about green eyes from the speakers, Baekhyun’s puppy browns stare back at Chanyeol unguarded. Their movements have become idle and unfocused—a mindless swing of bodies. Chanyeol is tempted to pass it off as another one of Baekhyun’s trademark taunts, but the depression at the base of Baekhyun’s throat tells Chanyeol he’s holding his breath for something.

 

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol mumbles. “It’s kind of pointless to ask that now, isn’t it? We’re already friends.”

 

“Friends,” Baekhyun echoes, hollow as a cave. “I guess that’s true, though I don’t know many friends who’ve had each other’s tongues down their throats at some point.”

 

“Okay, I get it,” Chanyeol grumbles. “You need to remind me of my embarrassing drunken self at least once a day.”

 

Baekhyun laughs, a shrill, loud sound. Then, the song ends and another begins—a blaring, bubbly pop song that kills the mood stone dead. Baekhyun winces, steps back and out of Chanyeol’s hold to turn off the music from his phone. Chanyeol drops his arms to his sides limply, fearing that he’s struck a nerve perhaps.

 

“Shit, sorry,” Baekhyun mumbles. “I have about everything in this phone.”

 

It’s the first time he’s seen Baekhyun look annoyed at an ABBA song. _Dancing Queen_ , of all songs, which Chanyeol thought suited him. A surge of terror leaves a metallic taste at the back of his mouth. The impulse to apologize is even more baffling, because he isn’t sure if there is anything he should apologize for.

 

“I should get going,” Chanyeol mutters, shuffling to the foyer. “It’s getting late and I don’t like driving when it’s too dark out.”

 

Baekhyun’s expression is devoid of emotion. Chanyeol’s panic intensifies when he shoves his feet into his shoes, and slips a quiet, “Is everything alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, rubbing one of his eyes with a fist. “I’m just tired.” Then, subtle but sharp, a smirk appears. “You’re welcome to stay over if you want. You can use my bed this time.”

 

“And where will you sleep?”

 

“With you, of course.”

 

The idea is tempting and not nearly as frightening as it should be. He’d gotten a gist of how cuddly Baekhyun could be earlier on the couch, and even now, having a puffy-eyed, bed-haired Baekhyun in front of him only makes Chanyeol fuzzy and warm at the prospect of holding an equally adorable Baekhyun in his sleep. 

 

Chanyeol swallows down the urge. “I don’t think I’d fit in your bed anyway,” he quips, inching towards the door. “Goodnight.”

 

“Well, the offer stays if you change your mind,” says Baekhyun. “Night, Chanyeol.”

 

On his way to the car, Chanyeol replays the way Baekhyun had said his name, tender as a secret. Chanyeol feels like a teenager after his first date, for the giddiness that swells within him and makes his body tingle with expectation.

 

It doesn’t even matter if it wasn’t a real date. Chanyeol is on cloud nine. He might’ve started tap dancing out of happiness right there in the street if it weren’t for the late-night jogger who gives him a weird look.

 

Five blocks down from Baekhyun’s apartment, Chanyeol receives a text message. Heart in his throat, he waits until he’s stopped at a light to unlock his phone and read it.

 

The text is accompanied by a grainy selfie. Chanyeol’s heart skips several beats as he opens it. Baekhyun is in bed, half of his face covered by his pillow—but what steals Chanyeol’s attention is the slick kissy-face Baekhyun is making at the screen.

 

 _I had fun tonight!!!!,_ the text reads _. Lets go to the beach tomorrow_.

Tiny hearts adorn the smiley emoji below the text. It’s also exactly how Chanyeol feels when his thumbs fly over the screen in his haste to reply _._

_Sure, whatever you want._

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

The sky is a grey, cloudy canvas, reflected on the sea below in a carpet of shimmery silver. A breeze carries the heady air, salty on Chanyeol’s tongue, and the sand is cool and damp under his bare feet. They spent an hour strolling along the shoreline, then chased each other as the ocean soaked their bare feet, laughing breathlessly, their voices rising louder than the waves breaking on the rocks.

 

It’s late afternoon when the sun peeks shyly through the clouds at last, sending golden rivulets onto the sea. Shoes in hand, they decide to take a break on the sand and let the sunshine warm their wet feet.

 

“It’s my birthday today.”

 

Chanyeol stops in his attempt to shake sand off his shoes to stare at Baekhyun. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“I didn’t think it was important to mention it.” Baekhyun shrugs at the sea. “I had a great time today anyway.”

 

“I could’ve bought you a gift or a cake or something,” Chanyeol presses. “You should spend your birthday with your friends.”

 

“Yixing is out of town,” Baekhyun tells him. “I didn’t want to spend my birthday alone.”

 

The statement hangs over them, like the seagulls squeaking overhead. Even if Baekhyun’s tone was light, inconsequential, something hot and spiky bristles inside Chanyeol. _If Yixing was in town_ , Chanyeol thinks, with a nip of bitterness, _he’d have been here in my place._

 

Chanyeol isn’t used to jealousy—he’s never been possessive with any of his partners—but the poison roiling in his stomach is unmistakable. It’s silly, because there’s no way he could compare to someone Baekhyun has known for years, someone he has history with. And yet, Chanyeol can’t help the sting singeing its way up his throat at the thought of Baekhyun preferring to spend this day with Yixing.

 

“Okay, we’re going for dinner tonight,” Chanyeol proposes, forging a smile. “My treat again.”

 

Baekhyun beams at him, brighter than a hundred suns. “Now that’s what I call a good birthday present!” Baekhyun rises to his feet, slapping his pants to get rid of the sand. “We should go now if we want to grab dinner. I have work tonight.”

 

In the car, Baekhyun falls asleep within minutes. Chanyeol steals a glance every now and then, unable to stop looking at Baekhyun’s peaceful face in his sleep, drawn to the hiccups that spill out of him in intermittent disruptions of his dreams.

 

Chanyeol wonders, if maybe, he is part of them.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

“Tell me a weird history fact.”

 

They’re in a Chinese restaurant of Baekhyun’s choice. It’s cozy and dim, with worn-out seat cushions and scratched wooden tables, a perpetual jazz playlist flowing from the speakers. The place seems frozen in time, like a vintage postcard. Chanyeol loves it. It’s also near his place—he’s passed by it hundred of times on his way to the corner grocery store and he’s never bothered to walk in until now.

 

“What do you want to hear?” Chanyeol asks, before taking a sip of water. “I have plenty of weird history facts, you know. That’s what I do for a living.”

 

“Just an obscure fact.” Baekhyun sways his chopsticks. “Whatever you use to wet someone’s knickers when you’re flirting.”

 

“You think I use history facts to flirt with people? I’m not that lame.”

 

“Well, what do you tell them then?”

 

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol mumbles into his food. “I don’t really have a trick or anything?”

 

Baekhyun’s gasp teeters into a giggle. “You don’t know how to flirt? Shocking.” His tone is more fond than the words would belie. “You’re so shy it’s cute, so it works in your favor anyway.”

 

Chanyeol flattens his lips into a straight line, almost bursting at the seams. “I’m not that shy,” he argues, even though he knows it’s a lie.

 

“Yes, you are!” Baekhyun coos. He reaches out to pinch Chanyeol’s cheek but Chanyeol swats him away, finally bursting into laughter. “My cute Chanyeollie.”

 

“I’m older than you,” Chanyeol reminds him. It flies right over Baekhyun’s head, because he smiles at Chanyeol adoringly, chin cupped in his palm. “How did I go from Mr. Park to Chanyeollie? I don’t know if that’s a step forward or back.”

 

“We’re a year closer in age today,” Baekhyun explains, through a mouthful of spring rolls. “So you’re Chanyeollie for now. You have to stop getting older for that nickname to stay, though.”

 

A speck of rice is glued to the corner of Baekhyun’s mouth. This time, Chanyeol does reach out to shoo the grain off his face without thinking, then quickly retreats.

 

Baekhyun sends him a grateful smile, cheeks puffed out with food. A light sheen over Baekhyun’s skin lends a glow to the crest of his smooth cheek and Chanyeol gets the urge to thumb over his cheekbone, delicately trace the line of his jaw and lips—until Baekhyun burps and the want perishes like smoke, willing the zombie butterflies in his stomach to settle down.

 

Outside the restaurant, Chanyeol finds the temperature has lowered a couple degrees. Baekhyun shivers, rubbing his arms for heat as they walk back to Chanyeol’s car. Chanyeol shrugs off his jacket and hands it to him.

 

Baekhyun looks like he’s about to protest, so Chanyeol says, “Wear it. I’ll drive you home and you can give it back then.”

 

Baekhyun takes it and caresses the satin thoughtfully. “It’s a really nice jacket. A little outlandish compared to your collection of grandpa cardigans.”

 

“I got it when I was feeling like treating myself,” Chanyeol tells him. Baekhyun smiles, pulling on the jacket. It looks so big on him, the sleeves swallowing his hands completely and the hem nearly falling over his thighs, Chanyeol can’t help but laugh.

 

“I think I like it better on you,” Baekhyun mutters, flapping the long sleeves. “Jesus, you’re really a Sasquatch, aren’t you.”

 

Chanyeol rolls the sleeves up for Baekhyun. “Hey, I’m being a gentleman here lending you my best clothes.” There’s something so satisfying about seeing Baekhyun wearing his clothes, that he gets distracted imagining Baekhyun in the rest of his attires, the pastel collared shirts he wears to work, even in one of those cardigans Baekhyun makes fun of, cozy and sensual, maybe wearing nothing underneath.

 

It’s not until Baekhyun tugs on Chanyeol’s shirt that he realizes Baekhyun has said something.

 

“Hey, Mr. Park,” Baekhyun says, grinning amusedly, “are you still with me?”

 

“What were you saying?”

 

“I said the hot vocal performance professor is coming this way.”

 

Chanyeol’s heart sinks to his knees. There, a couple of shops down the block, is Kyungsoo, denim jacket and black sweatpants, looking as handsome as he had on their first date. He’s alone, carrying a bag of groceries, and when he finally spots them, he smiles, round eyes shifting from Baekhyun to Chanyeol with polite confusion.

 

“Hey, Chanyeol. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

 

“Hello, Do-ssi.” Baekhyun bows. His smile is irresistibly charming, and Chanyeol sees the creases on Kyungsoo’s forehead fading. “I ran into Chanyeol-ssi and invited him to dinner since he’s my favorite professor and the semester is almost over.”

 

“That’s nice of you,” Kyungsoo chuckles. He’s looking at Chanyeol now, and his words seem to contain a nuance that Chanyeol can’t figure out. “I hope you’re not fishing for a better grade on your final.”

 

The joke catches them both off guard. Baekhyun laughs, his loud, unapologetic laugh, springing out of him with a dissonance that is a little grating on Chanyeol’s ears. Chanyeol’s smile drops when Kyungsoo tugs on his shirt, just like Baekhyun had done minutes ago—but this is different, more intimate, less playful, and Chanyeol can feel Baekhyun’s gaze boring holes into his head. The silence on his side is deafening.

 

“I’ll call you later,” Kyungsoo tells him. Chanyeol nods and Kyungsoo lets go. He gives Baekhyun a smile, which Baekhyun mirrors with no effort. “I’ll see you around, Baekhyun-ssi.”

 

Baekhyun bows once again when Kyungsoo goes on his way, then his gaze sets on Chanyeol with a different kind of sheen—questioning, questing, then, something switches off in his expression; Baekhyun becomes distant, his smile flattening until it’s a mere outline of the real thing. Chanyeol can’t ask what’s wrong before Baekhyun resumes the walk to the car without waiting for Chanyeol.

 

It’s silent in the drive back to Baekhyun’s apartment. Baekhyun stares out of his window, not bothering in changing the radio like he usually does whenever they’re driving, and Chanyeol doesn’t mind, because he’s not listening either.

 

Parked outside Baekhyun’s apartment complex, Chanyeol finally breaks.

 

“Listen, I’m sorry that was so awkw—”

 

“Are you coming upstairs?”

 

Chanyeol stares at Baekhyun dumbfounded. “Are you sure?”

 

“I have your jacket,” Baekhyun laughs, not unkindly. The sound sucks some of the anxiety out of Chanyeol. “I’ll give it back inside. And you better get it now because I’ll probably forget to give it back later.”

 

Chanyeol doesn’t get to utter a response before Baekhyun is climbing out of the car, leaving him gaping at his retreating back and then scrambling out of his seat to chase after the dancer. They climb the stairs in silence, broken by Baekhyun humming a tune under his breath, seemingly unperturbed by the tension choking Chanyeol like a noose around his neck. Yet, Chanyeol is dying to know whatever’s on his mind.

 

In his apartment, Baekhyun throws his keys over the table in the foyer and Chanyeol follows him inside demurely. Chanyeol slips out of his shoes, watching Baekhyun walk to the kitchen to drink orange juice from the carton.

 

“That’s disgusting,” Chanyeol teases, padding to the kitchen. He earns an eye roll from Baekhyun, who continues drinking. “What if I wanted to drink from there? I don’t want your germs.”

 

“You’ve kissed me before,” Baekhyun remarks. Chanyeol flinches, more at the carelessness in his tone than the words themselves. “Right after we met, remember? So you already have my germs.”

 

Chanyeol’s throat is parched. Clearing it is loud in the relative silence.

 

“I do remember.”

 

“Need some water?”

 

Baekhyun doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s filling a glass with tap water. His fingers caress Chanyeol’s as he hands the glass over to him, his gaze unreadable and trained on Chanyeol’s face.

 

Chanyeol licks his lips. “Thanks.”

 

Baekhyun pours himself a glass of orange juice and leans against the counter, watching Chanyeol drink his water. The strain in the room weighs on Chanyeol; his movements are sluggish and unwieldy, as if gravity had decreased under Baekhyun’s intense stare.

 

“That time you ditched someone to pick me up from the club…” Baekhyun starts. “It was Kyungsoo, wasn’t it?”

 

Chanyeol nods slowly. “Yeah.”

 

“Have you guys kissed yet?”

 

“What? No, we’ve just—we’ve just hung out, that’s all,” Chanyeol answers, keeping his voice light. “And why does that matter anyway? Are you jealous or something?”

 

Chanyeol hadn’t meant to ask that out loud. But as soon as the question is poised, Baekhyun huffs, a pout puckering his lips. “No, no, of course not. Why would I be? I’m just looking out for you, because you’re so shy and naïve. That’s it.”

 

Chanyeol’s heart stops dead like a clock out of batteries. Baekhyun _is_ jealous.

 

“Well, you don’t need to look out for me,” Chanyeol affirms. “Because I’m an adult. There is nothing going on, really. At least not right now.”

 

The reassurance relaxes Baekhyun’s stance. Chanyeol is downright baffled. Baekhyun has no reason to be jealous, but Chanyeol recalls that he’d felt the same way back at the beach earlier that day. The whole situation is so absurd, Chanyeol almost wants to laugh, because they obviously don’t have a claim on each other.

 

“Okay, but you still _want_ to kiss him, don’t you,” Baekhyun prods on. It’s just a tad bit accusing and petulant, particularly in the way Baekhyun crosses his arms. “How many people have you kissed?”

 

Chanyeol gets the feeling of having the same kind of argument with a boyfriend back in college and the memory renders the situation even more bizarre. The question is an obvious effort to steer the attention away from a very jealous Baekhyun, but it gets to Chanyeol nonetheless.

 

“I’ve kissed guys before,” he answers, an edge of defensiveness to his voice. A smile ghosts on Baekhyun’s lips, taunting yet endeared. “I had a boyfriend in college and we kissed a lot. And there’s Junmyeon too, before I moved here.”

 

Baekhyun leaves his glass next to the sink and stalks towards Chanyeol. “You know I’ve kissed a lot of people,” he whispers in a velvety pitch, “and I could teach you to kiss better now that you’re going to be kissing Kyungsoo regularly.”

 

Chanyeol finds himself caged against the fridge. All he can see is Baekhyun, Baekhyun’s small eyes, watchful and intense, Baekhyun’s pink lips, Baekhyun’s musky scent, and Baekhyun’s heat, radiating through his clothes, urging Chanyeol to touch him, wrap his arms around him, bring him close, closer than this.

 

Chanyeol can feel the warmth of Baekhyun’s breath on his face when he speaks next.

 

“So, what do you say?” Baekhyun questions. “We’ve done this before anyway.”

 

Baekhyun’s gaze locks onto Chanyeol’s lips, then, slow as molasses, it drags itself up to meet him. The want flickering there smolders every last bit of his conviction to ashes. All the effort he’s put into to building walls around himself these past months seems like a joke now, because, even if he tried, keeping himself away from Baekhyun is nearly impossible.

 

Baekhyun wets his lips to a glazed pink and Chanyeol follows the movement like a moth to a flame. This is it. The curtain has fallen around them and the audience holds its breath. It’s up to Chanyeol to take the leap where Baekhyun is luring him.

 

The moment his hand makes its way towards Baekhyun is eternal. But when his fingers fit over the perfect curve of his hips, sinking into the supple flesh to drag him closer, his fears diffuse entirely. A surprised exhale rushes through Baekhyun, lost within the dying distance—and it’s that exhale that puts the last crack in his wall before it collapses.

 

Their noses bump together, drawing a titter from both. Everything slows down, quietens, when Baekhyun threads his fingers into his hair to bring him down, tilts his chin up, and finally, _finally,_ presses his lips to Chanyeol’s.

 

The first time they kissed Chanyeol wasn’t in a state to remember much of it. Now, he can fully savor Baekhyun, his softness, his candy taste. The glide of their lips is unhurried, tentative, two lovers trying to reacquaintance each other—and it’s wonderful. Chanyeol is reminded of how much of a tease Baekhyun is, trapping and sucking and retreating right before diving. But the moment switches, abrupt as the snap of a rubber band; Baekhyun clutches his hair to tilt his head, tongue out and waiting, and Chanyeol opens up for him willingly, weeks and weeks of longing and pining pouring out into the kiss.

 

From then on it’s a game of one-ups: Chanyeol sneaks a hand under Baekhyun’s shirt, tickling right above his belly button with his thumb. He etches a smile into the kiss when Baekhyun shivers, lets out the most delightful of sounds that shakes Chanyeol in turn. But Baekhyun, never one to fall behind, nibbles on Chanyeol’s lips in retaliation, plucking moans from deep within Chanyeol’s throat just with his tongue.

 

They separate after long moments that stretch on forever. Baekhyun stamps a final, chaste kiss on Chanyeol, releasing a long, sweet sigh that breaks into a giggle. Forehead to forehead, Chanyeol rests his nose against Baekhyun’s cheek to gather his breath. His lips tingle with the phantom feeling of Baekhyun’s mouth, and he has half a mind to touch them, but he doesn’t want it to fade.

 

“You’re not so bad,” Baekhyun whispers, voice a rough, raspy timbre. “Even better than I remembered.”

 

In those seconds after the kiss the importance of what he’s done crashes down on Chanyeol with the force of a tsunami. Baekhyun’s lips are a reddish color, glossy, and spreading into a coy smile, honeysuckle dusting the tops of his cheeks. His scent, his warmth, his everything is enticing. It takes all of Chanyeol’s willpower to not let Baekhyun tangle him in another kiss.

 

“Baekhyun…” Chanyeol murmurs. “I can’t do this.”

 

Baekhyun takes a step back, looks at Chanyeol dead-on. It’s different from the way he looked before he kissed Chanyeol: he seems cautious, almost nervous. “I know I’m being childish, but I won’t say I regret what we just did.”

 

Chanyeol pushes out an amused breath. “That’s just right from you… I wasn’t expecting much else, to be honest. But we can’t let that happen again.”

 

“Yeah, I know the drill, Mr. Park.” Baekhyun cards rough fingers through his hair, crumpled bangs standing on spiky ends. “But the thing is that I can’t agree with that.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“God, you’re dense,” Baekhyun chuckles, limp and lifeless. All the nervous energy from earlier has left his body; now his gaze is dark and resolute when he stares at Chanyeol. “I don’t want you to like Kyungsoo. I want you to like _me_.”

 

Blood rushes to Chanyeol’s head, his heart thumping to compensate in its absence. The burn that has become a constant companion to Chanyeol returns with a fierceness in his chest.

 

“I tried telling myself this was a hopeless case,” Baekhyun continues, his voice a quiet, plaintive hum, “because I’ve never felt this way about someone who didn’t want to get in my pants. But you didn’t push me away, you kept hanging out with me, so I thought… I _hoped_ …”

 

“I hang out with you because I like you,” Chanyeol croaks out. “I’ve already told you that.”

 

“But you don’t like me the way I like you, do you?”

 

Small, droopy eyes stare at Chanyeol steady, sparkly, stripped of any pretense. This is Baekhyun, heart on his sleeve and nothing to lose, bearing his soul to Chanyeol.

 

Chanyeol can’t stomach it.

 

“Baekhyun, I can’t...” Chanyeol blows out air through his nose. “You know I could lose my job if somebody finds out. Kyungsoo saw us today. Somebody else from school could find out about us next and then we’d be in real trouble.”

 

 _Selfish._ It resonates in his head like a chant, drumming louder and louder as Baekhyun’s expression crumbles: his brows droop, mouth slumping helplessly, lids fluttering for a brief moment as if a gust of wind had blown straight at him. Then it ties itself up again, so fast, Chanyeol would assume it was a trick of the light if he hadn’t caught the slight tweak of pain behind it. 

 

“I knew you would say that.” Baekhyun slips out a smile—a rueful, bitter little thing Chanyeol wishes he didn’t have to see again. “I don’t know what I was expecting, really. I just wanted to get it out of my system.”

 

Chanyeol wants to say something, _anything_ , but fears the words will come out all wrong. How could he explain to Baekhyun what he means to him? Sending it all out into the world would mean putting an end to it. And Chanyeol can’t do that. He can’t let go of the way Baekhyun beams when he first sees him; the way he looks at Chanyeol, wry but adoring, when he’s said something lame; the way his sunlit presence has shed warmth over his life, where Chanyeol hadn’t realized until then how cold it was.

 

Chanyeol can’t possibly put all that into words without causing further damage. Because the thing is, he can’t be with Baekhyun, but he can’t let him go either.

_Park Chanyeol,_ he thinks _, you selfish bastard._

 

A prolonged exhale mollifies the lines of Baekhyun’s face into a semblance of acceptance, though his fists remain curled at his sides. “Well,” Baekhyun murmurs, “I guess it’s my fault for getting my hopes up.”

 

A door slams shut somewhere down the hallway outside. It’s exactly the way Chanyeol feels: a door closing in front of his face for good.

 

“Baekhyun, let’s talk about this.”

 

A sharp trill interrupts Chanyeol before he can get another word out. He digs his phone out of his pocket, and the caller ID has his heart pounding once again.

 

“You can take it if you want,” Baekhyun tells him. “I need to get ready for work.”

 

By the time Chanyeol swipes his thumb across the screen, Baekhyun has already turned on his heel and headed out of the kitchen.

 

“Chanyeol?”

 

“Sehun, can I call you later?” Chanyeol asks. “I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”

 

Chanyeol checks the clock on the kitchen wall. It’s nearing eight o’clock. Baekhyun has work tonight, and Chanyeol won’t get to repair the damage he’s caused.

 

“Right the fuck you are,” Sehun says. “Kyungsoo texted me to tell me he saw you with Baekhyun.”

 

“Fuck,” Chanyeol breathes. “We’re just hanging out because it’s his birthday.”

 

“He was really mad, Chanyeol,” Sehun says. “You better call him right now and fix this. He thinks you’ve been seeing Baekhyun behind his back all this time. You shouldn’t get on his bad side.”

 

“Sehun, I don’t have time for this right now,” Chanyeol mumbles. A headache begins a steady throb behind his eyes and Chanyeol closes them for a moment. “It’s been a bad night already. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“Chany—”

 

Just as Chanyeol hangs up, Baekhyun emerges from his bedroom. He opens a duffel bag in his sofa and puts his phone and a towel in it without ever sparing Chanyeol a look.

 

“Lesson’s over,” Baekhyun announces. “I have work in an hour and I need to get ready.”

 

“I could give you a ride,” Chanyeol offers, shoving his phone into his pocket. “It’s not so far out of my route.”

 

Baekhyun shakes his head. “I wanna take a shower and I usually lather in lotion. I don’t wanna make you wait.”

 

Chanyeol can’t find a trace of malice in his voice. Just plain indifference. Nothing in his face reveals any emotion, bare as it is, and Chanyeol doesn’t know what’s worse.

 

“I should get going then,” Chanyeol says, walking to the door. Baekhyun doesn’t follow. “I had a great time today.”

 

As Chanyeol puts on his shoes, fast as possible, he hears a quiet, “Thank you for spending my birthday with me.”

 

Baekhyun’s profile is slightly turned away from Chanyeol, so he can’t make out his expression. “You’re welcome,” Chanyeol says, and opens the door, dragging his feet out of the apartment under the weight of his heart.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

Baekhyun doesn’t show up for his Monday class. Chanyeol goes home, dejected, checking his phone every so often for messages that don’t come and stopping himself right at the start of a text.

 

To make matters worse, he finds Kyungsoo in the hallway seemingly waiting for him when he exits the classroom.  It’s too late for him to hide when Kyungsoo walks straight towards him.

 

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo starts. No warmth or amiability to his tone. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but you’ve never called me after you promised.”

 

“Uh, sorry,” Chanyeol stutters. “I got busy and—”

 

“Busy with Baekhyun?” Kyungsoo interrupts. That shuts Chanyeol right up. Kyungsoo’s gaze is sharp, unimpressed, one thick eyebrow raised in defiance, and despite being nearly twice his size, Chanyeol feels cowered. “Look, I’m not stupid, okay? I know what’s going on.”

 

“It’s really not what you think,” Chanyeol rebukes. “We were just hanging out when we ran into you that day.”

 

“Chanyeol, I could sense something was off,” Kyungsoo reiterates, “when you didn’t return my texts and bailed out when I proposed a date. We weren’t official, I know, but I would’ve liked you to be honest with me.”

 

“Kyungsoo, I assure you there’s nothing between me and Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says. “I wasn’t playing with you.”

 

“I saw the way that boy looked at you, Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo says. “It really didn’t look like nothing to me.”

 

The words hit Chanyeol hard. There’s nothing he can say to refute that. He’s seen that look on Baekhyun and he’s sure, if Kyungsoo had observed them longer, he would’ve spotted it on Chanyeol as well.

 

Chanyeol swallows around the knot in his throat. Kyungsoo stares at him for a long moment, searching, and whatever he finds there makes him sigh wearily.

 

“Don’t lead him on if you don’t feel the same,” Kyungsoo chastises him. “It’s not his fault you don’t know what you want.”

 

Do Kyungsoo is utterly handsome. Today, he’s left his collar unbuttoned, his rolled-up sleeves showing his strong forearms. Even his thick eyebrows drawn together give him an enticing edge.

 

But Kyungsoo never managed to speed up Chanyeol’s heartrate like Baekhyun does effortlessly. The way Baekhyun can make him melt with so much as a look and a smile is a magic trick no one else has been able to replicate.

 

“I’m so sorry, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol murmurs. “You’re such a great guy and you deserve way better than this.”

 

“Look, we had fun and that was it,” Kyungsoo says. “No hard feelings, Chanyeol.”

 

Chanyeol blurts out, “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

 

Chanyeol regrets asking immediately. Kyungsoo’s face contorts as though he’s swallowed an entire lemon and Chanyeol wishes he could pick the words from the air and pushed them back into his mouth.

 

“What, are you scared I’ll rat you out to the administration?” Kyungsoo chuckles mirthlessly. “You do know how the guy before you lost his job, right? If I were you I’d be more careful.”

 

Kyungsoo walks away without another word. Chanyeol watches his retreating back among the crowd of students, even more lost than he was in the beginning.

 

The rest of his week isn’t uplifting. Baekhyun shows up to class early on Friday and Chanyeol can barely contain his relief. But his joy is short-lived as Baekhyun is visibly cold towards him; he doesn’t laugh at his lame jokes like he has all semester, nor does he smile during his lecture.

 

As students leave their homework assignments on his desk, Chanyeol is caught up in a conversation with a student, and he can’t break it off in time to stop Baekhyun on his way to the door. A miserable Chanyeol watches Baekhyun leave his homework on the desk and walk briskly out the door without sparing Chanyeol a single glance.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

 “So you fucked up big time.”

 

Chanyeol frowns at Sehun over his beer. That evening he’d called Sehun over to drink and wallow over how badly he’d messed up by falling for Baekhyun, but so far he’s only managed to get slightly tipsy and overly judged.

 

“Shut up, Sehun,” Chanyeol groans, scratching his chin. A five o’clock shadow he keeps forgetting to shave prickles his fingers. “I don’t need you to remind me.”

 

“That you screwed up with not just one but _two_ guys?” Sehun whistles before taking a draught of his beer. “What I can’t believe is that Baekhyun obviously made up an excuse to make out with you and you totally fell for it.”

 

“He didn’t trick me,” Chanyeol admits, rolling his eyes. “I knew it was a trick and I let it happen. Because I wanted…”

 

“You wanted what?” Sehun leans forward. “Say it.”

 

“I wanted to kiss him.” Chanyeol exhales. “I think I really, really like him, Sehun, and not as just a hookup.”

 

“And why didn’t you tell him that?”

 

“Because I can’t date him.” Chanyeol drops his head to his hands. “What if Kyungsoo does report me and I lose my job? No one would hire me ever again and then I’d be totally screwed…”

 

“Well, if I were him I’d report you just to be petty,” Sehun jokes. Chanyeol flips him off and Sehun kicks him under the table. “But maybe Kyungsoo will take pity on you because you clearly haven’t gotten laid in so long and keep the secret for you.”

 

“Asshole,” Chanyeol tells Sehun. “It’s not like I’m going to try anything with Baekhyun now. I’m not that stupid.”

 

“Yeah, it would be a terrible idea,” Sehun agrees with a nod. “If you want to keep your job and steady income you need to stay away from Baekhyun.”

 

“There’s a ‘but’ in there…”

 

“But you’re obviously head over heels for him,” Sehun goes on. “You’ve looked like a kicked puppy all week and I bet you’re dying to talk to him right now.”

 

“I am,” Chanyeol confesses, laying his head on the table. “But he won’t answer my texts and I don’t want to bother him. He must hate me now and I deserve it.”

 

“But wouldn’t that be the best solution to this problem?” Sehun wonders. “If he doesn’t want to see you anymore, then everything is solved.”

 

“Maybe,” Chanyeol agrees. “Maybe I should just let him go. It wouldn’t be fair to keep talking to him when I already told him we shouldn’t be together.”

 

“But you like him,” Sehun counters flatly. “And you want to be with him.”

 

Chanyeol nods silently, blowing out his lips. “Well, if we had dated, he would’ve realized in a month that I’m actually too old and boring for him.”

 

“Chanyeol, you’re twenty-seven—”

 

“What if all this time he was into me because he thought I was playing hard to get?” Chanyeol barrels on. “He said it himself he wasn’t used to men turning him down.”

 

Sehun flicks him hard on the forehead. Chanyeol squeaks, rubs over the spot while glaring at his friend. “Calm down!” Sehun grabs a beer from the six pack and places it in front of Chanyeol. “Here. Drink. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

 

An hour and half a dozen cans later, Chanyeol lies on his side on the couch, his head on Sehun’s lap, sleepy and drunk, blabbering about how much he likes Baekhyun and how much of an idiot he is for losing him. Sehun strokes his hair drunkenly, fingers unwieldy and slippery, and grumbles, “You’re right on that. You’re an idiot.”

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

The next Friday Chanyeol’s luck seems to finally change. Baekhyun stays behind after the throng of students file out of the lecture hall, expression impassive as he waits for the place to empty. Chanyeol can’t even pretend to be unbothered this time. All the anxiousness boiling inside him since Baekhyun’s confession spills over like a rain-flooded canal.

 

Chanyeol finds no sign of emotion hidden in the spotless surface of his face. But when Baekhyun walks to his desk and offers Chanyeol a small, timid smile, most of his worries are inevitably overrun by happiness.

 

“Hey, Mr. Park,” Baekhyun says quietly. “Long time no see.”

 

“Hey,” Chanyeol retorts, trying to keep his tone steady, “I’ve been trying to talk to you for days—”

 

“Save it,” Baekhyun orders, not unkind. Chanyeol presses his lips into a thin line. “I don’t wanna hear it. I just wanted to give you something.”

 

“I have something for you, too,” Chanyeol says. “For your birthday. It’s late, I know, but you didn’t give me much choice.”

 

Baekhyun blinks several times, visibly taken aback. Something smooths across his face, a fissure on his expression sealed by Chanyeol’s gesture. Chanyeol clings to this display of emotion like a sailor to shore. “Oh, you didn’t have to…”

 

“I did, actually.” Chanyeol grabs the paper bag on his desk, fast, before Baekhyun can turn his gift away. Baekhyun accepts it with a quiet curiosity. “I hope you like it.”

 

Baekhyun opens the bag impatiently, then directs his astonishment to Chanyeol. Chanyeol has bitten down on his lower lip so hard, he thinks it’ll start bleeding any time. “It’s a pillow.”

 

It’s a pillow of a crocheted corgi with its tongue out and the words _World’s Best Boy_ crocheted in red thread underneath. Chanyeol had seen it at a vintage shop last week and the first person he thought of was Baekhyun.

 

“It’s for when you miss Mongryong around the house,” Chanyeol says. “I know the real thing is better, but you can still cuddle this, right?”

 

Baekhyun looks up, eyes sparkling, wonder dancing in the dark irises. “Thank you,” he breathes. “This is so nice of you.” Then, he turns to rummage through the duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. “Here, this is my present for you.”

 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Chanyeol protests weakly. The thought of Baekhyun gifting him something even though he’d rejected him has his chest constricted. “I should be the one giving you things.”

 

“I ordered this weeks ago,” Baekhyun clarifies, waving his left hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Baekhyun hands him what looks like a painting wrapped in parcel paper, no taller than his forearm. Chanyeol tears through the paper carefully and the first glimpse of yellow across the rip makes his throat work. Chanyeol recognizes the work in a heartbeat, because it’s one of his favorites: the fourth version of Van Gogh’s _Sunflowers._

 

It’s also the painting that Baekhyun reminded him of once upon a time, when they had barely struck this unique friendship of theirs. The memory pierces through his spine like a gunshot wound.

 

“I know you really love colors in paintings,” Baekhyun explains. Casual tone, evasive eyes. “So, I wanted to give you this to hang in your broom closet. To give it some color and all that.”

 

“This is so nice of you,” Chanyeol retorts, garbled. “Thank you so much, Baekhyun. I’ll keep it safe.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” Baekhyun shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Wanna walk me outside? Yixing’s waiting for me.”

 

Just then, Chanyeol notices that the duffel bag is stuffed, possibly with clothes. “Are you going somewhere?” Chanyeol asks, as he leaves the hall alongside Baekhyun.

 

“I’m going home,” Baekhyun replies. “Wanted to spend the long weekend with my family. The longest I’ve spent with them is a couple days last Christmas, so let’s hope no one murders anyone.”

 

Chanyeol chuckles, squinting against the afternoon light as they tread down the stone steps of the building’s entrance. “I’m sure your parents can’t wait to see you.”

 

“Yeah, I miss my old folks too,” Baekhyun says, smiling. “And my bro’s gonna be there with his family… I haven’t seen my nephews in so long.”

 

“I’m happy you’re doing this,” Chanyeol tells him. They’ve stopped by the cobblestone path leading to the street. “It’s progress after all.”

 

Baekhyun shrugs again. “I’m a big boy now.” A honk gets his attention and Baekhyun waves in its direction. Chanyeol’s stomach coils into a thousand knots. A dark-haired man smiles at Baekhyun from the driver’s seat of a white Chevy parked along the curb. “Well, I should get going. Yixing’s waiting for me and I don’t want to make him wait any longer. He’s driving me to my parent’s after all.”

 

“Take care,” Chanyeol says. “I’ll see you next week.”

 

“See you,” Baekhyun retorts, smile sweet. “Hey, come by the Black Pearl when I return. There’s gonna be that burlesque number I told you about, remember?”

 

Chanyeol is warmed by Baekhyun’s attempt to be his friend, in spite of everything. “I’ll be there,” he promises.

 

Chanyeol has always been sort of a closeted romantic—it’s part of his job, really, being so articulate in the lives of artists and the passions painted in their art—and the scene before him is awfully romantic in nature. The dusk is a dash of rose against a backdrop of auburn. The trees sway with the breeze, lamps turning on along the cobbled path, where leaves tumble and swirl. Invisible fingers caress Baekhyun’s hair with the gentleness of a lover. The late-afternoon glow has softened his features, his cheeks pillowy and downy, his perfect mouth set for a kiss.

 

In this frame, he looks like the capricious muse of a renaissance painter. A male Venus atop a shell, pearly skin and honey locks and ethereal aura. The task of capturing all his grandiosity almost like chasing light.

 

“I missed you,” Chanyeol blurts out. “I missed you a lot.”

 

If this were a movie, this is where Chanyeol would spill out all of his feelings. But it’s not a movie, so Chanyeol’s not offended when Baekhyun responds to his half-assed confession with a playful punch to his arm.

 

“Don’t say that,” Baekhyun reproaches lightly. “It’s not fair, Mr. Park.”

 

It doesn’t escape Chanyeol, the slight catch in his voice at the end. Chanyeol melts inside like butter over heat. “It’s the truth,” he mutters. “I miss you bombing my inbox with your dumb texts.”

 

Baekhyun’s chuckle is lilting, crescent eyes wrinkled at the corners. The familiarity in that sound is as sweet and cloying as the scent of blooming flowers in the air. “I’ll make sure to spam you every day first thing in the morning while I’m gone.”

 

By now, Chanyeol knows the intricacies that comprise Byun Baekhyun. And he knows, like he knows the lines indented into the palm of his hand, that Baekhyun is lying.

 

But Chanyeol won’t hold that against him. All he says is, “Can’t wait,” before Baekhyun parts with a clumsy wave and leaves Chanyeol behind to nurse his bruised heart.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

That Saturday morning Chanyeol awakens to the tune of a new text. He almost drops his phone in his rush to get it from beneath his pillow, just to discover it’s another meme from Sehun. It’s been the same routine since the afternoon he saw Baekhyun last: checking his phone in case Baekhyun sent something, only to be disappointed when he finds out he didn’t. Even if he’d not believed Baekhyun would write, he still harbored a treacherous hope for some kind of contact.

 

The approach of June means sultry afternoons stealing into the milder climate of May. After lunch Chanyeol opens all the windows and pushes the furniture to the walls to clean his living room.

 

When he’s done mopping and the wooden floor shines under the sunlight, Chanyeol remembers dancing with Baekhyun in his own living room and the way his face was alight with happiness. With _Lover Come Back_ by City and Colour playing from his speakers, Chanyeol retraces the steps Baekhyun had taught him in his apartment all those nights ago. Miraculously, he remembers the steps, but it’s not like dancing with Baekhyun at all. There’s no one to laugh with when Chanyeol messes up and steps on him, no one to hold him firmly and encourage him through gentle whispers. The thought makes him miss Baekhyun terribly, so he gives up soon after.

 

Chanyeol plops down on his couch like dead weight. The _Sunflowers_ painting is on his counter, where he’d left it the previous night. It’s amazing still how the colors remind him of Baekhyun’s dirty blond and his face when it’s scrunched with laughter. Baekhyun’s laughter in particular rings loud in his head as if he’d heard it a minute ago, and Chanyeol wishes he could replay it a thousand times like his favorite line in a song.

 

Right as the current song is over, Chanyeol plays _Yellow_ by Coldplay in his phone, just because he’s a masochist like that.

 

In the evening, Chanyeol decides to call his sister before dinner. It takes three rings for Yoora to pick up, and when she does, the line crackles with a sigh. “Hello?”

 

She must’ve been napping because her voice is a groggy mumble. Chanyeol smiles fondly. “Hi, sorry, did I wake you? I can call another tim—”

 

“Chanyeol?” Yoora interrupts. There’s some movement and then her voice comes firmer on the other line. “Sorry, I didn’t see who it was! I just woke up from a nap, but I can talk now. What are the chances of my little brother calling again?”

 

“Ha ha.” Chanyeol rubs his neck, heated by the call-out. “I’ve just been very busy…”

 

“I’ve heard that excuse before,” Yoora tuts. Chanyeol can picture her smile right now—a perfect reproduction of their mother’s smile.

 

“So, what’s new?” Chanyeol asks. “How’s everything?”

 

“Oh, it’s been fine,” Yoora replies nonchalantly. “Just work and sleep and more work, as usual. What about you?”

 

“I met someone,” Chanyeol blurts out. It had been on the tip of his tongue since the call started and now it springs out of him like a champagne cork. “From the college.”

 

Yoora hums excitedly. “So there is a boyfriend after all! I had a feeling you were hiding something back then, Yeollie. It’s the older sister’s instincts.”

 

“Well, he’s not actually my boyfriend,” Chanyeol clarifies quietly. “That’s the thing.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He’s a student,” Chanyeol reveals. “From one of my courses.”

 

“Oh.” Yoora pauses for a long moment where Chanyeol holds his breath. Chanyeol can tell her smile has faded from her voice alone. “How old is he?”

 

“He’s twenty-three,” Chanyeol replies. Yoora hums. “I know it’s terribly unprofessional—”

 

“And irresponsible,” Yoora agrees. “And so unlike you!”

 

“Are you mad?”

 

“No, just surprised,” Yoora explains. “I imagined you were dating a coworker… You’ve always been so level-headed so this really came out of left field. But he isn’t your boyfriend?”

 

“We’ve been just hanging out,” Chanyeol says. “And we’ve kissed a couple of times. But now this colleague saw us and I’m afraid he could report me…”

 

“Well, that’s not unexpected,” Yoora says. “Changwon isn’t exactly Seoul, is it? You’re bound to run to someone you know. Are you sure this guy is worth all the trouble?”

 

“Absolutely,” Chanyeol says. “I haven’t felt like this about someone else… probably never in my life. I tried dating someone to forget about him, but it just didn’t work.”

 

“Woah, you got it bad, huh,” Yoora says. “I’ve never heard you talk like that about someone.”

 

“He’s special,” Chanyeol tells her, smiling.

 

There’s a pause that seems to stretch on forever. Chanyeol is about to check if the line has cut off when Yoora speaks again, “When is the semester over?”

 

“In less than a month,” Chanyeol says. “Why?”

 

“Because you could always ask him to wait,” Yoora says. “There’s no need to rush, is there?”

 

Baekhyun is about the most impatient person Chanyeol knows. But he thinks it’s worth a shot.

 

“That’s true,” Chanyeol breathes. “Thank you, Yoora.”

 

“Hey, isn’t this nice? Talking about boys together?” Yoora asks. “But I guess this means you won’t be coming back to Seoul anytime soon, huh.”

 

“’M afraid not,” Chanyeol answers. Now that he knows how he truly feels about Baekhyun, there is no way he’s leaving his side easily.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

For the first time in weeks, Chanyeol gets to his classroom early that Monday morning. He’s sifting through the lesson plans for the day, waiting for the students to arrive, his right leg bouncing under the table wired by nerves.

 

Five minutes before class starts, Baekhyun finally enters the classroom. Baekhyun’s hair is rumpled, as if he hadn’t bothered with the brush that morning, but he’s still striking in his Whitney Houston shirt and tight washed-out jeans.

 

“Hey, Mr. Park,” Baekhyun greets quietly. “You’re early today.”

 

They exchange their usual furtive smiles. Chanyeol’s about to greet Baekhyun back, when another student asks loudly, “Baekhyun, isn’t that your seat?!”

 

Baekhyun turns to where a bouquet of red roses awaits him prettily on the second row near the window. Chanyeol’s heart is a riot in his chest the entire seconds it takes for Baekhyun to reach his desk. Baekhyun shifts from the flowers to Chanyeol, his face painted by surprise, and they lock gazes for what feels like an eternity.

 

Then, Baekhyun shrugs, picks up the flowers and places them on the floor to take his seat.

 

“I don’t know who could’ve sent them,” Baekhyun tells the other student. “Maybe someone got the wrong seat.”

 

“Or maybe you got a secret admirer!”

 

The whole class erupts in excited murmurs. Chanyeol clears his throat loudly and the class settles back into silence.

 

“I’m sure Baekhyun-ssi knows who sent those flowers,” Chanyeol says, glimpsing at Baekhyun. “So we can start the class now.”

 

“Actually, I don’t know,” Baekhyun declares. “The person didn’t leave a name.”

 

There’s mischief in Baekhyun’s tone. Outwardly, he’s teasing, smiling broad when other students chuckle, but Chanyeol can see the challenge in his eyes.

 

“Lots of great artists didn’t leave their names on their artworks,” Chanyeol says, diffident. “They all had their reasons, but that doesn’t mean their heart wasn’t in the meaning behind their pieces.”

 

“Then what’s the meaning of these flowers?”

 

Baekhyun is staring directly at Chanyeol when he poses the question. Firm and incisive. Several meanings pop up in Chanyeol’s head at once. _I want you back. I miss you. My life is meaningless without you making fun of me._ A cheesy repertoire of confessions that could put to shame the cheesiest of poets out there. Yet, Chanyeol remains silent and lets the question pass onto another student.

 

“Red roses mean love and desire,” a girl chimes in. She’s infamous for answering each and every question in class, so Chanyeol smiles indulgently. “Someone’s got it bad for you, Baekhyunnie.”

 

“Well, whoever it was,” Baekhyun says loudly, “they need to try a little harder than this.”

 

A sea of laughter arises again. Chanyeol looks back to his notes and begins his lecture as though nothing had happened. Baekhyun looks stone-cold again for the remaining of the lecture and Chanyeol’s initial hope begins to wither like flowers in the winter.

 

Later that night, he gets a text from Baekhyun. _thank u for the flowers, mr. park._ There’s no follow-up message, not even an emoji. Chanyeol attempts a conversation, but Baekhyun doesn’t take the bait and his text sits alone and sad in their chatbox, which used to be so alive once upon a time.

 

But Chanyeol refuses to lose hope completely. If Baekhyun had challenged him to try a little harder, then that is exactly what he is going to do.

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

Baekhyun’s show starts at eleven on a Saturday and Chanyeol is there just as he’d promised.

 

Chanyeol is drinking a margarita at the bar, shifting nervously on the stool when the lights dim to an enigmatic dark purple and the music starts.

 

Chanyeol read that tonight’s theme was cabaret at the entrance. So it’s not that surprising when _Lady Marmalade_ begins playing, and the red light of the stage uncovers three figures, two tall framing a smaller one, which Chanyeol instantly recognizes as Baekhyun. Baekhyun is clad in a red corset and red leather shorts, pantyhose over his creamy legs, which lower and raise him, back arched so his butt is pushed out. He’d chosen a pink, wavy wig for the stage, not the blond one Chanyeol had seen weeks ago. Chanyeol zeroes in on the garter around his right thigh, gulping hard when another drag queen yanks at it with a red-lacquered fingernail and Baekhyun smacks her buttocks in return.

 

Baekhyun commands the stage, a force to be reckoned with. The dance is natural, sensual, but Baekhyun teases and hooks the audience, his body pulsating with charisma and beauty. It’s impossible to look away from him. The trio are holding mics, lip-syncing to the music while dancing and strutting around, even grinding close to each other as the men in the audience cheer and whoop. Chanyeol experiences a mix of jealousy and pride that he downs with a sip of his drink.

 

The show ends and the lights dim. Baekhyun leaves the stage and Chanyeol runs backstage. This is his chance, if he doesn’t spill his heart out now he’ll never be able to do it.

 

A burly, menacing man stands at the entrance, sharply blocking Chanyeol when he tries to slip through. Chanyeol’s claim about meeting a friend backstage go unheeded; the man does not move an inch, as if Chanyeol had not spoken at all.

 

Then, when Chanyeol’s about to give up and head home, one of the drag queens from Baekhyun’s performance saunters out from the backstage doors. She turns to Chanyeol with sweet, made-up eyes. “Who are you looking for?”

 

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol replies, eagerly. “I’m a friend.”

 

“Oh, you’re Chanyeol?” She checks Chanyeol out inconspicuously, giving an approving smile once her assessment is done. It’s just the kind of thing Baekhyun does, Chanyeol wonders if it’s a work habit. “He’s mentioned you before. You’re very cute, just like he described you.” She inclines her head towards the doors, glancing quickly at the guard. “I’ll take you to Baekhyun. He’s preparing for the next show in an hour, but I’m sure he can see an old friend.”

 

The drag queen introduces herself as Jongin while she walks Chanyeol through a corridor of doors, chitchatting amiably, though Chanyeol isn’t listening; he’s too nervous to focus on much. Jongin leaves Chanyeol at a white door, winking and wishing him good luck before she parts, clacking on her stilettos.

 

Chanyeol knocks three short rasps. The door opens an instant later. Baekhyun appears in a robe, freshly washed and ruffled-haired, and his face falls at seeing Chanyeol.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I just wanted to talk to you,” Chanyeol says. “Since you didn’t give me a chance last time.”

 

Baekhyun sighs, then glances around and ushers Chanyeol inside. A lanky, pale man is sitting on one of the two vanities, and looks at Chanyeol like he’s an intruder. “Who is this?”

 

“He’s a friend,” Baekhyun replies tersely. “Could you give us some privacy, please? Go hang out with sugar daddy or something.”

 

The young man scoffs as he stands from his seat, giving Chanyeol a poisonous look on his way out.

 

“Don’t mind him,” Baekhyun tells him, taking a seat on the other vanity. “He gets a bit pissy when he’s hungover.” He crosses his legs and adopts an air of seriousness. “So, what do you wanna talk about? Is everything okay?”

 

“About that night in your apartment,” Chanyeol says, “I’m sorry I ran out like that. I should’ve stayed and talked about it with you.”

 

In a flash, Baekhyun’s countenance changes. Whatever warmth was there has given way to chill. “What is there to talk about,” Baekhyun questions, rising to his feet. “You don’t have feelings for me. Got it. Is that all you came here to say because I have another show to get ready for—”

 

“Baekhyun, would you just listen, please?” Chanyeol demands. Baekhyun’s mouth hangs open over half-formed words. “When you told me I was unpredictable back when we met, I didn’t think it was true because I thought I was the most boring guy on the planet. But you’ve changed my life completely. You gave me so much happiness, I looked forward to seeing you in class, and you don’t know how long it’s been since I had something to look forward to at all.” 

 

“Chanyeol—”

 

“Please, let me finish before I forget everything I wanted to say,” Chanyeol interrupts. “I thought all that flirting wasn’t real because you’re so gorgeous and fun and I’m just _me_ —until you told me you liked me and I realized I was so dumb.”

 

“It _was_ real,” Baekhyun chimes in, arms crossed. “And you _are_ dumb.”

 

“Thanks,” Chanyeol retorts, smiling. Baekhyun ducks his chin to hide a smile. “The thing is, I do like you, Baekhyun. I really, really, really like you. And I’m very sorry for taking so long to man up and tell you.”

 

Baekhyun’s face sags with disbelief, a hopeful sparkle twinkling in his eyes. “You like me?”

 

“I do.” Chanyeol’s confession skates over a whisper, swallowed by the roar of his heart. “I like you very much. And I understand completely if you hate me after how stupid I was. If you want me to leave, I will, and I’ll never bother you again.”

 

“Well, I _was_ upset after you turned me down,” Baekhyun accuses, piercing as needles. Chanyeol’s back stiffens. “I don’t know if it’s something that could ever be forgiven…”

 

“If you need more time to think about it,” Chanyeol presses, “I’ll understand. You can just say it and I’ll understand.”

 

Baekhyun is silent for a moment, then bursts into a boisterous laugh, his fist bumping into Chanyeol’s arm. It’s the bubbly, hiccupy kind, so comforting, Chanyeol’s heart swells ten times its size.

 

 “Oh, shut up,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head. “You’re the nicest guy I know.”

 

“Baekhyun, I’m not joking,” Chanyeol tells him. “I do want you.” Baekhyun melts, stepping into Chanyeol’s personal space. “I want you in every way possible. I’m sorry I didn’t say it when I should have.”

 

Baekhyun’s lids quaver over a smile that blossoms tender and beautiful, like flowers receiving the sun. “Can you repeat that one more time? What you just said?”

 

Baekhyun tentatively picks at the front of his shirt, his gaze coquettish and heavy on Chanyeol. Chanyeol has missed it so much. That playful tone, the way his skin became ablaze every time Baekhyun so much as touches him, and the happiness bubbling inside of him, effervescent, gossamer as the wings of butterflies beating against his ribs.

 

“What, that I like you? That I want you?” Chanyeol grins pleasantly. Baekhyun bites on his lip, a thrilled hum coming from his throat. “That I’ve never wanted anybody like I want you?”

 

Baekhyun’s laugh scrunches his nose. Chanyeol has to cling to his resolve so as not to kiss him right then and there. “But what about Kyungsoo?”

 

“He’s not you.” Chanyeol smiles, taking a step forward. “You’re something else.”

 

“Am I?”

 

“You’re perfect, Byun Baekhyun.”

 

That puts the last chink in Baekhyun’s armor.

 

As if cued by music, they move towards each other simultaneously: Baekhyun rests his hands atop Chanyeol’s shoulders, at the same time Chanyeol wraps his hands over Baekhyun’s hips. They fit perfectly over his gorgeous figure. Yearning clogs his throat at Baekhyun’s warmth against his torso, the scent of his hair comforting and familiar, like coming home after a long trip.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Baekhyun breathes, and the want laced in his tone hooks at Chanyeol’s gut. “I can’t wait to take you home. Do we really need to take it slow?”

 

“I want to take you out on dates properly,” Chanyeol says, placating smile at the ready, “but can you just—can you just wait for me? Until classes are over?”

 

“Chanyeol, I don’t want to wait,” Baekhyun whines with an irresistible pout. “I want to have you right now. Right this second. Like, I want to throw you on that futon right there and do all kinds of nasty things to you.”

 

“I’d let you do all that,” Chanyeol says, red in the face. “But it’d be better if we just wait a little longer. There’s three weeks left in the semester, remember? We can do it.”

 

“Well, the thing is…” Baekhyun sets his mouth in a rectangular grimace. “I’m going home for a week after finals, so we won’t be seeing each other until I get back.”

 

“Oh, okay,” Chanyeol says. “I can wait until then.”

 

“Can I kiss you at least?” Baekhyun flutters his lashes. “Just a peck?”

 

“You never asked before,” Chanyeol returns. “Why are you asking now?”

 

Baekhyun fiddles with the collar of his shirt, his smile brightening up his whole face. Anticipation gushes within Chanyeol, rising, teeming, pouring out of him in a laugh as Baekhyun drags him down by the collar of his shirt, his laugh a light, blissful tune.

 

Then, as their mouths are inches apart, the kiss is interrupted by a knock on the door.

 

Baekhyun groans, “What?”

 

“It’s time for your show,” a voice replies, which sounds a lot like Jongin’s. “And you can’t have sex in the dressing rooms!”

 

Another knock and a cackling laugh come through the door. Baekhyun sighs, dropping his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder while Chanyeol laughs into his hair.

 

“Fuck.” Baekhyun rolls his eyes skyward. “Were you eavesdropping this whole time?”

 

“Yes,” reply two voices in unison.

 

“You need to go now,” Baekhyun tells him, grabbing him by the arms and steering him towards the door, “before someone comes down to check what’s taking me so long. If they find you here, I may get sacked.”

 

“I’ll wait for you at the bar!”

 

Chanyeol catches a glimpse of Baekhyun’s beam before the door is shut in his face. His elation is quickly replaced by mortification when he spots the identical smirks on the two strippers in the hallway.

 

 

 

Chanyeol waits around to drive Baekhyun home. It’s a quarter past midnight when Baekhyun gets in the passenger seat, and Chanyeol immediately notices something’s changed in the nearly two hours between his confession and now.

 

“I wanna set some rules,” Baekhyun announces. “I had a lot of time to think and I get now that it’s actually risky to _date_ date before classes are over.”

 

“Really?”

 

Baekhyun’s nod is comically grave. “I don’t think ‘sleeping with the art history professor’ will look so good in my records, and I don’t want you to be jobless—I don’t think I can support us both with what I earn at Black Pearl.”

 

“Okay,” Chanyeol chuckles, “what rules?”

 

“Well, first,” Baekhyun counts with his fingers, “no kissing until the semester is over.”

 

Chanyeol’s jaw drops, waiting for Baekhyun to tell him it’s a joke, but Baekhyun’s expression remains impartial, showing no signs of a hidden prank. “Okay… what’s the next rule?”

 

“No sleeping together until the semester is over.”

 

“That’s easy,” Chanyeol snorts. “If there’s no kissing, there’ll be no fooling around either.”

 

“I mean any kind of sleeping,” Baekhyun rectifies, “which also includes cuddling.”

 

“But cuddling is so good…” Chanyeol whines. Baekhyun shakes his head resolutely. “Okay, I’m the one who’s making us wait, I get it, but it’ll be worth it in the end.” Chanyeol smiles, tentative, leaning forward slightly. “Can I get a kiss now? A little one? Just to seal the deal?”

 

Baekhyun does an exaggerated eye-roll, which Chanyeol deems it’s well-deserved. “Alright, just one.”

 

Chanyeol tamps down a grin as Baekhyun cups his face, eyes shut suitably while waiting for Baekhyun, thrumming with excitement. There is an amused wheeze from Baekhyun, then, at last, Baekhyun pecks him on the mouth. Short and sweet. Baekhyun tastes of strawberry chapstick, and the exhale that caresses the upper portion of Chanyeol’s mouth tastes of peppermint and yearning, the same kind that surges in Chanyeol’s sternum.

 

Chanyeol doesn’t dare prolong it. Baekhyun pulls back as fast as he’d moved, leaving behind a waxy texture on Chanyeol’s lips, thick and palpable, like the ache in Chanyeol’s heart for _more_.

 

It does not help that Baekhyun is all bright eyes and tender smiles, hair fluffed and cheeks bunched up, and Chanyeol longs to takes him in his arms, to pepper his face with kisses until Baekhyun is laughing, struggling to break free.

 

“You want to keep kissing me, don’t you?”

 

Baekhyun looks a healthy mixture of bemused and sympathetic. No doubt he must want to kiss Chanyeol senseless as well—and the thought rather than lessening only serves to increase Chanyeol’s misery.

 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol sighs, indulges a mournful smile. “But waiting only means I’ll get to kiss you everywhere once I can get my hands on you.”

 

Baekhyun’s brows shoot up to his hairline, huffing out a surprised titter. “What happened to the grandpa-clothing wearing goody two-shoes who didn’t wanna go dancing with me?”

 

Chanyeol chuckles, turns on the engine, shaking his head at Baekhyun. “I just know what I want,” he says. “And that is a promise.”

 

Baekhyun’s grin is delighted, blossoming into a full beam. Then he turns back to the road, bouncing in his seat a little. “Let’s stop all this talk before I get horny and I have to break my own damn rules.”

 

Chanyeol laughs, driving off the curb. Baekhyun tinkers with the radio until a song in Chanyeol’s playlist comes on: The Cure’s _Just Like Heaven_. The song that he and Chanyeol had sung along to ages ago when Baekhyun had let Chanyeol drive his friend’s car during those first trysts into the territory of unrecognized attraction.

 

Baekhyun gasps, “Is that our song?”

 

“I like it,” Chanyeol says, feigning offhandedness. “It reminds me of you.”

 

Chanyeol does not mention that he’d listened to the song on repeat when he missed Baekhyun the most, which was an embarrassingly high amount in the past weeks. But Baekhyun must know, by the tenderness in his gaze, so palpable Chanyeol feels it like a caress on his cheek.

 

“That’s so sweet,” Baekhyun purrs, pinching Chanyeol’s cheek. “My little Yeollie.”

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

The next two weeks breeze by dreadfully fast for students whose finals are nearing, but for Chanyeol, times goes by torturously slow.

 

Things return to normal for Chanyeol and Baekhyun—which for them means flirty looks and secretive smiles across the classroom that throw Chanyeol off-kilter during his lectures and lengthy discussions at his desk after class is dismissed. Said discussions mostly center on how hot Chanyeol had looked when he made a certain point, and, Baekhyun being Baekhyun, he does this while sitting on the desk, papers be damned, positioned so close Chanyeol can smell the fruity aroma of the gum he’s chewing.

 

Those weeks are idyllic, even if Chanyeol can’t properly have Baekhyun. Most of their outings are nocturnal and scarce, but Chanyeol cherishes them all the same. They go to a _chimaek_ joint late at night after Chanyeol’s picked Baekhyun from work to eat and drink and talk, and when they leave, sleepy and tipsy, they talk for a couple of hours in Chanyeol’s car until Baekhyun reluctantly calls it a night.

 

That’s what they do most; talk. Whenever their schedules don’t align, they talk over the phone into the early hours of the morning or until one of them falls asleep on the line. They talk about work, school, and their aspirations for the future. (Carefully sidestepping any talk of a future together, but it’s fine, Chanyeol has faith they’ll get there sometime). They also exchange inane gossip, like professor Kyungsoo being spotted taking long walks around the quad with a beautiful woman named Joohyun, and Sehun dying his hair a shocking blond that makes the girls and boys of Changwon college fill up his office hours. Baekhyun’s sleep-scratchy voice is soothing, comforting, his laugh an even stronger medicine, and sometimes that is simply enough to quench his need to have the man in his arms.

 

As June progresses into July, the whole thing turns into a game of who caves in first. Chanyeol should’ve expected it from Baekhyun. Yet, it only becomes clear on a Friday, when Chanyeol is preparing to spend an afternoon catching up on work in the quiet of his tiny office. A fresh cup of tea, highlighters in each hand, and a week’s worth of homework assignments piled up in alarming stacks, Chanyeol’s all set to start grading when the door to his office swings open and a Byun Baekhyun barges in without a care.

 

“Good afternoon to my favorite professor!” Baekhyun spots the precarious stacks of papers and his eyes widen theatrically. “Oh, you need help with that?”

 

In ripped jeans and yellow flannel shirt, Baekhyun looks exactly like what Chanyeol’s college wet dreams were made of and not that different from what they are now. It’s awfully distracting, as Baekhyun tends to be, and yet Chanyeol could never say no to Baekhyun, even if it put his life at risk in some ridiculous way.

 

So they sit and grade homework in comfortable silence, a fit Chanyeol didn’t think possible of Baekhyun, until the dancer begins singing under his breath. It’s not bothersome; Baekhyun’s voice is melodic, a rough undertone running through it, and Chanyeol thinks he could spend countless hours like this, sitting idly with Baekhyun, doing nothing more than listening to his voice. 

 

“What was with Michelangelo and dicks?”

 

“What?”

 

“Michelangelo,” Baekhyun repeats, holding up a highlighter. “He loved to paint dicks—and sculpt them too, I guess.”

 

“There’s historical evidence that he was gay,” Chanyeol mumbles, stumped. “So, uh, it makes sense he liked…”

 

“He liked dick?” Baekhyun hums delightedly. “Can’t blame him for that, can’t we?”

 

“Alright, go back to grading.”

 

“Love me some dick.”

 

Baekhyun makes a show of licking his lips, the pink tip of his tongue tracing his mouth deliberately, stopping at the corner to rest there for a few seconds. Chanyeol would love to say he isn’t affected, but his body is betraying him; his pants are becoming a little too tight around his crotch and the temperature in the room is hotter than it should be with the window open.

 

Baekhyun looks at him innocently under his lashes. “What? Are you going to scold me? I’ve been a bad boy after all.”

 

Chanyeol curls his upper lip. Baekhyun’s being his usual outrageous self, but to Chanyeol’s misfortune, the act does get to him. “Baekhyun—”

 

“I should say, a spanking from you would be nice.”

 

That’s the last straw on the proverbial camel’s back. Chanyeol bends across the desk, and, lowering his voice, he asks, “Would you be able to handle it?”

 

Baekhyun has never looked as stunned as he does in that moment. Chanyeol would burst out laughing right then and there, if he weren’t also stunned himself. He can’t believe those words came out of his mouth until Baekhyun begins blinking again, a flush spreading on the top of his cheeks and a grin breaking across his face. Then, as fast as it had come, his expression pinches, a whine pushing past his downturned mouth as he slouches in the seat, just like a four-year-old on the verge of a tantrum.

 

“Ugh, I’m so horny now,” Baekhyun sighs, returning to his papers. “And you’re not making it any easier—You look so hot in that shirt.”

 

Chanyeol laughs, abashed, the base of his neck ablaze. Baekhyun is so adorable when he’s put off, strawberry lips puckered, and it helps tone down some of the desire that had pooled in Chanyeol’s gut as well. There’s definitely some gratification in knowing he can ruffle Baekhyun as much as the stripper does him constantly.

 

“I’m sorry I’m so handsome?” Chanyeol teases. Baekhyun’s glare doesn’t deter him. “Now you know how it feels having a very hot boyfriend taunting you all the time. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

 

Baekhyun dips his chin, reprimanded, and mumbles, “Maybe.” A faint smile dances around his mouth—fond and maybe pleased. Chanyeol smiles even wider. “But to quote someone, I can’t wait until I can get my hands on you.”

 

“I can’t wait either,” Chanyeol admits, perching his chin in the heel of his hand. Baekhyun grins, soft, tender, and Chanyeol dissolves under the longing in that stare.

 

Chanyeol is truly a goner.

 

A knock on the door breaks the moment. Sehun appears a second later, shooting a curious glance between the two, before it transforms into a knowing smirk. “Am I interrupting something, lovebirds?”

 

“We were just about to fuck on the desk,” Baekhyun chirps, “but you’re allowed to stay and watch, if you want.”

 

Chanyeol gawks, heat creeping to his face. Baekhyun is unbothered. Sehun’s eyebrows arch, then he grins just as bemused as Baekhyun. Chanyeol can tell both would be insufferable if they ever become friends.

 

“Well, as much as I’d like to see that,” Sehun drawls, “I’m just here to help Chanyeol not fall behind on his work.”

 

“Okay, that sounds boring, but I was here for the same reason.” Baekhyun shrugs, turning back to Chanyeol, seemingly undeterred still that he’s made a mess of the professor. “Unless you want me to leave now?”

 

“No, no, no,” Sehun chimes in. Chanyeol hasn’t regained his ability to speak yet. “You can stay. You were here first. And besides,” Sehun fixes Chanyeol with the most infuriating smirk, “I think he prefers your company over mine.”

 

Chanyeol guffaws, slamming his palm on the desk. “You’re right about that, Sehunnie.” Sehun, on the other hand, looks put-off for all of one second before Baekhyun directs a blinding grin at him.

 

“This just gives me enough time to finally get to know you, Sehun-ssi,” Baekhyun says. “I’ve always found your classes so fascinating.”

 

Baekhyun is, as always, unbearably charming—and the way he said _classes_ sounded undoubtedly like an entendre—and there is nothing Sehun loves more than a compliment. It works: Sehun smiles, lauded, and takes the vacant seat next to Baekhyun.

 

It’s like Chanyeol’s worst nightmare materializing in his office. Two of the most shameless people Chanyeol’s ever met and who should never have met for Chanyeol’s sake are convening in front of him like long-lost friends. And his fears are confirmed when the next thing Sehun says is, “I’m going to tell you all the embarrassing stories I know about Chanyeol.”

 

Chanyeol groans, “Oh god.”

 

Baekhyun squeaks in interest, leaning towards Sehun in his seat. “I’m all ears!”

 

 

🌹🌹🌹

 

 

They break the second rule the night before Baekhyun is set to leave for his parent’s home.

 

That day marked the official end of the semester. Baekhyun had used his charms on his boss to get a one-week vacation from his stripper’s duties, and he’d invited Chanyeol over under the excuse to celebrate with pizza and beer. Baekhyun was tired from dance practice and finals week, so he’d welcomed Chanyeol in an old shirt and worn-out sweatpants that went over his feet. A very cuddly Baekhyun. And true to this, Baekhyun had curled around Chanyeol on the couch like a kitten, head on his shoulder and hand on his thigh, and Chanyeol, giddy, ecstatic, had wrapped an arm around Baekhyun and rested his cheek on his silken hair.

 

At the end of the night, Baekhyun insists Chanyeol should spend the night. It’s pouring outside, a fierce wind beating at the windows and causing the rain to fall in slanted shards. Arms crossed and frown imposing, Baekhyun had opposed vehemently to Chanyeol driving home on flooded roads, and Chanyeol, after a valiant but feeble effort, had given up and agreed.

 

Bed made on the couch, Baekhyun had hummed and hawed, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and Chanyeol smiled, ridiculously endeared, because he saw right through Baekhyun’s act. Chanyeol wasn’t keen on ending the night either. After having a warm, snuggly Baekhyun in his arms for the past hours, he didn’t want to go to bed alone, knowing that Baekhyun would be snuggly and warm in the next room. There couldn’t be a worse kind of torture. But Chanyeol didn’t want to be the one to poise the question first, in case Baekhyun may regret taking things too fast.

 

Then, Baekhyun had stood on his tiptoes and kissed Chanyeol on the cheek, quick, featherlight, but the heat left on his skin was of an imprint.

 

“Goodnight, Yeollie,” Baekhyun had said. “You can crawl into my bed if you get lonely.”

 

Now Chanyeol lies in the couch staring at the ceiling, the onslaught of rain a restless lullaby to restless thoughts. Baekhyun had seemed hesitant that day. Chanyeol wonders if his distance made Baekhyun question himself, but Chanyeol had only been sticking to the rules Baekhyun had set.

 

Outside the storm rages on, thunder rolling in the distance. On the couch, Chanyeol daydreams about slipping under Baekhyun’s sheets and pressing close to him, the heat of his body, and his lips, soft and pink, so close to his own…

 

A powerful whip of lightning makes Chanyeol jump. For a moment, he thinks he’s mistaken footsteps for the thumping of his own heart until he hears another thud right behind the couch.

 

“Chanyeol, are you awake?”

 

Chanyeol sits up on the couch, shot forward by the urgency in Baekhyun’s voice. Baekhyun is in the hallway right outside his room, looking uncharacteristically small in the gloomy darkness.

 

“What’s wrong?” Chanyeol asks.

 

“Uh, can you—” Another crack of thunder rumbles the windows. Baekhyun jolts, glancing around as though the building may collapse over their heads at any moment. “Can you come sleep with me? The heater went off and I’m—uh—cold.”

 

Through a sleep-clouded brain, Chanyeol labors to connect the dots. The heater was never on. It’s not even cold enough to warrant turning it on. And Baekhyun seems terrified and nervous, jaw locked tight, hunched over himself as if…

 

The realization hits Chanyeol with a smile.

 

_Baekhyun is scared of storms._

 

“Are you sure?” Chanyeol puts casualness to his voice. “Because I’m pretty warm right now.”

 

“Yeah.” Baekhyun exhales through his nose. “Fuck the rules.”

 

This Baekhyun is different from the one who had winked over his shoulder before he went to bed. This Baekhyun is small and cozy and frightened. Fuzzy shirt, flannel pants, cowlicks all over his head. This Baekhyun lacks the usual friskiness and bravado—he just wants Chanyeol by his side to fight off the scary storm.

 

A flash of lightning sheds the entire living room in blueish light. Baekhyun’s eyes are wide and terrified, picture perfect of a cat in a full bath.

 

“Chanyeol, if you don’t come to bed right this second I swear to god—”

 

Chanyeol chuckles as he gets up from the couch. “I’m going. I’m going.”

 

Baekhyun’s bed wasn’t made in consideration of Chanyeol’s size. It fits the two alright, but it’s a tight fit and Chanyeol’s feet are nearly dangling over the edge. Chanyeol keeps to his side, unsure of how comfortable Baekhyun is with this proximity; that is, until Baekhyun scoots closer, fitting one leg between Chanyeol’s knees easily and rubbing his bare feet against Chanyeol’s socked ones.

 

“Was this all a ploy to get me in your bed?” Chanyeol teases.

 

“What?” Baekhyun asks. “Tonight or this whole semester?”

 

“Tonight,” Chanyeol chortles. Baekhyun seems more relaxed than minutes ago; his shoulders aren’t by his ears anymore, though his jaw remains taut as a bowstring when another lightning strikes in the vicinity. “But I guess you did succeed in your mission to get me in your bed this semester.”

 

Baekhyun laughs, gently, subdued. His index is tapping on the back of Chanyeol’s hand incessantly, most likely to relieve his anxiety, so Chanyeol takes his hand and laces their fingers together. Baekhyun exhales a long stream of air, burrowing even closer to Chanyeol without actually embracing him.

 

“Mr. Park,” Baekhyun starts, “I need to come clean about something.”

 

Chanyeol can feel sleep pulling at the edges of his consciousness, but a note in Baekhyun’s voice rings dubious, uncertain, effectively awaking him. “What is it?”

 

“All this time I wasn’t just trying to get into your pants,” Baekhyun confesses in a whisper. “Well, I was at first, but then I realized… I really, really liked you. As a person. So it all became so much more than a game. Than just a hook-up.”

 

“I know,” Chanyeol mumbles. “I didn’t know at the beginning, but I do know now.”

 

“I just didn’t want you to think you were just another lay for me,” Baekhyun goes on. “Because you aren’t. When I told you you were different because men never turned me down… I meant it. You’re something else, Mr. Park.”

 

At a loss for words, all Chanyeol can say is, “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Baekhyun echoes. “Just wanted it to be clear.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Can you say something else than okay?”

 

“You look cute when you’re scared,” Chanyeol laughs quietly. Baekhyun’s chin wrinkles when he pouts. Chanyeol boops his nose, and Baekhyun smiles, slow at first, then a tad wider when Chanyeol traces his cheekbone with his thumb. Touching Baekhyun freely is novel and exhilarating, his body thrums with the sensation. “We’re breaking one of your rules.”

 

Baekhyun inches closer, his knees on Chanyeol’s thighs. “I made them, so I’m free to break them however I want.”

 

Chanyeol sets the pad of his thumb on Baekhyun’s chin. In a second, all they can do is stare at each other. Baekhyun’s gaze is crystal clear in the dark, mouth inert and inviting. “What other rule can we break?”

 

Baekhyun pretends to ponder, then lurches forward to capture Chanyeol’s mouth. The moisture of Baekhyun’s lips envelops his mouth in a chaste kiss. Smooth and light. Swiftly, Chanyeol takes Baekhyun’s face in his palm to tilt his head, not giving Baekhyun a chance to escape. Not that the boy planned on it: he opens for Chanyeol easy, unpersuaded, and from then on it’s a game. A slow glide of tongues, slick, lax, greedy in its exploration. No inhibition, no clashing. Both familiar and novel. Old dance partners venturing into a new song together. 

 

Baekhyun kisses him like a dying man and his cure is every sigh he plucks out of Chanyeol. His taste is honeyed, heady, addictive, and Chanyeol could kiss him all night to get his fill. Perhaps it’s the romanticism of the long-awaited kiss, or the soundtrack of rain pelting on the windows, but Chanyeol doesn’t feel the need to do more.

 

Chanyeol’s tongue traces the perfect shape of Baekhyun’s mouth, pausing right over that heart-stopping mole over his upper lip. It’s his favorite of Baekhyun’s moles, but he drops a kiss on his second favorite over his cheek. Chanyeol rubs his thumb along the skin of Baekhyun’s hips and smiles at the way Baekhyun shivers, molds himself onto Chanyeol for more. Being the huge tease he is, Baekhyun bites down on Chanyeol’s bottom lip, then tugs it, just to lick over his teeth, the roof of his mouth. Chanyeol moans, tightens his hold on Baekhyun’s hips, and retaliates by trapping Baekhyun’s tongue, sucking, lapping, until it’s Baekhyun who comes apart with a weak, desperate sound.

 

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” Baekhyun warns. Chanyeol travels downwards, peppering kisses over Baekhyun jaw, and lower to the elegant curve of his neck, breathing over the damp spots where his tongue has been. A sweet sigh of pleasure leaves Baekhyun, tailed by a groan. “Chanyeol, if you don’t stop right now—”

 

A strike of lightning has Baekhyun jerking in Chanyeol’s embrace. When it passes, Baekhyun whimpers against Chanyeol’s shoulder. Chanyeol chuckles, rubs Baekhyun’s arm, until Baekhyun pulls back to hit Chanyeol’s chest with his fists playfully for laughing. Which only makes Chanyeol laugh harder.

 

Baekhyun blows air through his nose. Chanyeol brushes his hair back. It’s getting longer since the start of summer; it’s shaggy and rumpled, roots a dark halo around his crown, but Chanyeol loves it. Whenever Baekhyun’s bangs fall over his eyes in a tufty mess, he looks just like a Yorkshire Terrier.

 

“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun starts, lowly, “will you pick me up from the station next week?”

 

The last two weeks have been bliss, a refrain of quiet, longing glances and subtle, smoldering touches under dingy restaurant tables. But the trip had barely left Chanyeol’s mind all week—it encroached at times on their peace like storm clouds in the horizon. Tomorrow Baekhyun will get on a bus with a little piece of Chanyeol’s heart and it seems that, by that look of uncertainty from Baekhyun, he isn’t alone in his concern.

 

“Of course,” Chanyeol replies. “If that’s what you want.”

 

“What if you come with me to my parent’s?” Baekhyun asks playfully. “My dad would love you if you talked to him about impressionism or whatever. Oh but he would probably make you drink his scotch and you’re more of a margarita guy…”

 

Chanyeol can’t tell if Baekhyun is joking. Baekhyun has that crooked smile on that drives Chanyeol a little crazy. “I can drink anything,” he retorts. “I don’t have a terrible alcohol tolerance unlike some people I know.”

 

“Joke’s on you,” Baekhyun returns. “You’re stuck with me and my poor alcohol tolerance.”

 

“You’re stuck with me and my two left feet.” Chanyeol kisses the tip of Baekhyun’s nose. Baekhyun sputters, then giggles. “And my awful grandpa cardigans and sweaters. How about that?”

 

“I think I can live with that,” Baekhyun hums, running his fingers over Chanyeol’s cheek. “Maybe later it’ll start to dawn on me what a terrible mistake I’ve made, but I’m pretty happy right now.”

 

“Shut up, you brat,” Chanyeol laughs, slapping Baekhyun lightly on the thigh. Baekhyun beams, eyes bright and fond. Chanyeol has the sudden urge to call him _sunflower_ , but Baekhyun draws him in for another kiss, hands firm on his hips, before Chanyeol can bring himself to be cheesy aloud. This kiss is unhurried, interposed by laughter, breathless, senseless outbursts of joy, until their smiles get in the way of kissing. Chanyeol kisses the beautiful shape of Baekhyun’s smile, like he’d been craving to do so for months, and it tastes just like the affection exploding in his chest.

 

Chanyeol echoes Baekhyun’s words in his head. _I’m pretty damn happy right now._ Everything seemed so complicated about a month before, when it was such a simple equation all along: just their love and happiness. Just a stripper and his art history professor.

 

“Well, you said it once, Mr. Park,” Baekhyun whispers into his mouth. “I can’t ditch you because you’re my favorite professor. So I guess you’re mine now.”

 

Baekhyun had told Chanyeol he wanted him in simple words. Chanyeol wishes he could borrow those words and his courage to tell Baekhyun what he really means to him. But it may be too soon—and there’ll be plenty of time for that in the future. For now, Chanyeol is going to give Baekhyun what he asked and so much more.

 

“That’s true.” Chanyeol thumbs Baekhyun’s knuckles before he drops a kiss there. A kiss that implies a promise. “I’m yours.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> -the story is set in Changwon, but i took places from Jinhae and other cities  
> -there are two songs mentioned in the story that aren't in the playlist; lady marmalade from moulin rouge and aquellos ojos verdes by nat king cole.
> 
> thank u for making it to the end! **comments and kudos are appreciated ♡**


End file.
